BUBBLES    WE    BUY 


BUBBLES 
WE    BUY 


BY 


ALICE  JONES 


1  Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whoU  soul's  tasking." 

LOWBLL 


BOSTON 
HERBERT   B.   TURNER  &   CO. 

1903  $ 

&;^5£&a^^ 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
Herbert  B.  Turner  6-  Co. 


Entered  at  Stationers  Hall 


All  rights  reserved 


Published  May,  1903 


Colonial  ]3rtsf 

Electrotypcd  and  Printed  by  C.  H    Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S   A. 


CONTENTS 


I.  "THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM"    . 

II.  OLD  FRIENDS                                  . 

III.  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER        . 

IV.  "  IN  HER  SERVICE  "      .        .        .        . 
V.  THE  FLOWERS  OF  DEATH    . 

VI.  THE  MOORINGS      .        .        .        .        . 

VII.  THE  LUST  OF  GOLD              . 

VIII.  THE  DEAD  HAND.        .        .     .'. 

IX.  OUR  LADY  OF  WRATH  .... 

X.  ISAAC  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 

XI.  GATHERING  CLOUDS      .                . 

XII.  THE  SWORD  OF  DAMOCLES  .        .        • 

XIII.  SEPARATE  PATHS 

XIV.  A  CONNOISSEUR 

XV.  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  HER  YOUTH 

XVI.  A  NEW  ALLEGIANCE     . 

XVII.  CLASHING  WILLS   . 

XVIII.  STARTING  AFRESH         .        .        .        . 

XIX.  BY  THE  THAMES   .        .       .       i-       . 

XX.  JACK       .        .        .        ...        .        . 

XXI.  CHRISTMAS      ...... 

XXII.  IN  THE  STUDIO             .       .        .       . 

XXIII.  IN  FLORENCE         .        .        •  •     .        . 

XXIV.  A  WANDERER 


PACK 
I  I 
21 

29 
40 

50 
60 

72 

81 

89 

98 

107 

H5 
123 
130 
138 
'45 
'54 
161 
1 68 
178 
187 
198 
208 
218 


2136383 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PACK 

XXV. 

227 

XXVI. 

THE  GORGON'S  HEAD 

•      237 

XXVII. 

254 

XXVIII. 

THE  BORDERLAND    .... 

.      263 

XXIX. 

"  OUR  HANDS  HAVE  MET  "     . 

•      273 

XXX. 

HEATHHOLM      

.      282 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

THE  AMERICAN  ARTIST  . 

.      300 

XXXIII. 

MOTHER  AND  SON    .... 

.      310 

XXXIV. 

THE  POISON  OF  ASPS 

•      319 

XXXV. 

SUNDERED  FRIENDS         .        .        .. 

.      328 

XXXVI. 

COOKHAM  REGATTA          .        .       ..  , 

•     337 

XXXVII. 

JACK  GOES  SOLDIERING  . 

•     345 

XXXVIII. 

ELLEN  SIEVERT  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

•     352 

XXXIX. 

IN  THE  DAY  OF  TEMPTATION 

.     360 

XL. 

AT  THE  SHOOTING  HUT  . 

•     367 

XLI. 

THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT   . 

•     375 

XLII. 

RELEASE   

.     386 

XLIII. 

A  FORLORN  HOPE   .... 

•     393 

XLIV. 

"  HOMEWARD  BOUND  "     .                * 

.     401 

BUBBLES    WE    BUY 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM  " 

IT  was  a  night  when  a  wild  south-easterly  storm 
had  swept  in  from  the  Atlantic,  battering  with 
steady  persistency  against  the  walls  of  a  square, 
white  wooden  house,  bending  down  the  frail  sap- 
lings of  lime  and  elm  planted  in  front  of  it,  roaring 
amongst  the  sturdier  native  pine  and  oak  in  the 
woods  that  stretched  behind. 

It  almost  seemed  as  though  some  power  abroad 
in  the  darkness  had  brought  an  evil  force  to  bear 
against  that  human  habitation,  when  the  rain  was 
driven  against  the  windows  as  if  flung  by  an  unseen 
hand. 

At  any  rate,  such  an  idea  may  have  been  lurking 
in  the  mind  of  an  old  man  of  rough,  seafaring 
aspect,  who  sat  alone  smoking,  in  a  room  that 
looked  a  cross  between  a  scullery  and  an  office,  for, 
at  every  wild  dash  of  rain  or  shrill  gust  of  wind, 
he  looked  round  in  a  nervous  fashion,  subsequently 
making  some  move  to  stir  the  fire  that  burned  in 

11 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

a  small  stove,  or  to  fuss  with  his  pipe,  in  seeming 
excuse  for  such  disquietude. 

His  small,  keen  eyes  peered  out  in  sailor  fashion 
from  under  the  wrinkled  eyelids,  as  if  on  the  watch 
for  some  untoward  sight,  and  when  the  door  of  the 
room  opened  softly,  he  started  violently,  and  then, 
to  hide  the  fact,  stirred  the  fire  anew. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  woman,  by  coming  creeping 
in,  in  that  fashion,  instead  of  with  an  honest  bang 
to  the  door  ?  "  he  demanded,  wrathfully. 

"  Indeed,  and  I  thought  you'd  have  your  fill  of 
noises  to-night,  Isaac  Neisner.  You  might  fancy 
yourself  off  the  Jamaica  coast  in  the  hurricane 
season,  I'm  thinking." 

"  And  I'd  just  as  soon,  if  not  sooner,  be  there 
as  here,  to-night,"  the  man  muttered  to  himself; 
then,  with  a  sudden  purpose,  he  asked : 

"  And  why  did  you  come  away  and  leave  the 
master's  room,  when  I  told  you  to  stay  there,  even 
if  he  should  sleep?  " 

The  woman  glanced  back  toward  the  door 
before  she  answered,  in  a  cautious  tone: 

"  And  how  could  I  stay  when  the  mistress  came 
herself  and  sent  me  away?  She  said  that  she  had 
had  a  long  sleep  and  was  quite  rested,  and  that 
I  was  to  go  to  bed." 

"  It  would  be  a  brave  woman  that  would  go 
to  bed  on  such  a  night,"  was  the  comment,  though 
whether  Isaac  referred  to  the  storm  or  to  some 
other  disturbing  element,  he  did  not  explain.  In- 
stead, he  went  on  to  ask : 

"  Was  he  awake?  Did  he  seem  to  know  that 
she  was  there?  " 

"  He  seemed  asleep,"  the  woman  answered,  in  a 
12 


"THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM" 

whisper;  "  but  as  I  stood  outside,  I  heard  him  speak, 
and  thought  he  called  *  Isaac.'  I  just  ventured  to 
open  the  door  a  crack  and  ask  if  I  should  send  you, 
but  she  answered  in  that  quiet  voice  that  gives  you 
a  cold  shudder  down  your  back,  that  I  was  never 
to  mind,  for  he  was  just  a  bit  wandering  in  his  head, 
and  that  she  was  going  to  give  him  the  medicine 
to  soothe  him.  She  was  standing  with  a  glass  in 
her  hand  by  the  bed.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  come 
away." 

There  was  a  silence  between  them,  only  broken  by 
the  eldritch  shriek  of  the  still  rising  gale. 

They  had  seated  themselves  in  shabby  wooden 
rocking-chairs,  one  on  each  side  of  the  stove,  seem- 
ing to  find  a  needed  moral  support  in  each  other's 
neighbourhood.  The  man  was  a  rather  superior 
specimen  of  the  long-shore  sailor,  of  about  fifty ;  the 
woman,  a  shrewd-faced,  kindly-looking  country- 
woman of  something  the  same  age.  It  was  she  who 
first  broke  the  silence,  saying,  with  a  solemn  shake 
of  her  head : 

"He'll  go  to-night  for  sure!  Such  a  storm  as 
this  hasn't  come  for  nothing.  You  know  how  my 
old  man,  who  had  been  on  the  Spanish  Main,  used 
to  say  that  a  pirate's  soul  could  only  get  away  in 
a  gale,  when  there  were  them  abroad  in  the 
storm  that  would  not  be  gainsaid.  Go  he  must 
before  morning,"  and  she  looked  around  her  with 
a  shuddering  joy  in  her  own  flight  of  imagination. 

But  the  wrath  of  Isaac  Neisner  was  aroused. 

"  And  who  taught  you  to  call  the  Honourable 
Jonathan  Bauer,  member  of  the  Queen's  own  Coun- 
cil for  this  country,  a  pirate,  if  you  please?  Keep 
a  civil  tongue  in  your  head  for  your  betters," 

13 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Ellen  Sievert  took  this  admonition  quietly. 

"  You're  not  the  only  one  who  knows  things, 
Isaac.  Remember  that  my  old  man  was  more 
voyages  with  him  than  you  ever  was.  I've  a  good 
idea  that  the  mistress  may  know  more  than  any  of 
us.  Her  eyes  are  awful  to-night.  They  glitter  like 
the  snakes'  of  her  own  country.  I  was  glad  enough 
not  to  stay  in  the  room  with  her." 

"  Women  always  know  more  than  any  man  round, 
or  think  they  do.  For  my  part,  I'm  content  with 
what  I  do  know.  'Deed,  an'  I'm  inclined  to-night 
to  wish  it  was  less,"  he  added,  inconsistently. 

On  a  momentary  lull  came  such  a  strange  tumult 
of  sounds  that  Ellen  started,  and  asked,  nervously : 

"What's  that?" 

"  Only  the  wind  in  that  old  ventilator.  The 
master  wouldn't  let  me  have  it  mended;  said  it 
would  cost  too  much.  He  has  screwed  them  all 
down  of  late." 

"  Well,  she'll  soon  get  the  spending  of  it  now." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be.  There's  no  doubt  she 
loves  the  money  to  spend,  just  as  much  as  he  does 
to  save.  But  the  son  will  be  the  saving  kind,  I'm 
thinking." 

"  He  should  be  here  to-night  by  his  father." 

"  He  would  be,  if  she  hadn't  declared  his  wife 
needed  to  see  a  Boston  doctor,  and  sent  them  all  off." 

"  As  if  Nova  Scotian  doctors  weren't  good 
enough.  But  do  you  suppose  "  —  here  Ellen  low- 
ered her  voice  — "  that  she  knew  what  was 
coming?  " 

But  Isaac  declined  to  be  further  drawn. 

"  I  don't  suppose  anything.    Only,  I'm  glad  them 

14 


"THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM" 

children  are  not  in  the  house  to-night.  You  and 
I  aren't  easily  frightened." 

All  the  same,  an  ashen  shade  came  through  the 
tan  of  his  face,  as  Ellen  sprang  up  with  a  low  cry. 
"  Some  one  called !  I  heard  them !  " 

Sure  enough,  there  sounded  a  shrill  voice  in  the 
passage :  "  Isaac !  Isaac !  " 

But  as  though  it  were  a  summons  to  the  powers 
of  the  night,  down  swept  the  fierce  clamour  of  the 
storm  in  such  redoubled  force,  that  one  of  the  tall 
pine-trees  crashed  over  against  the  house,  which 
seemed  to  rock  to  its  foundation. 

"  The  Lord  save  us !  "  groaned  Isaac,  while  Ellen 
clung  to  his  arm  in  speechless  fear.  As  if  before 
the  elemental  forces,  the  door  of  the  room  was 
hastily  flung  open,  revealing  a  strange  figure. 

It  was  a  woman  of  about  fifty,  whose  somewhat 
unwieldy  form  was  wrapped  in  an  untidily  gorgeous 
red  silk  tea-gown.  Her  black  hair  hung  in  con- 
fusion about  the  colourless  face,  from  which  the 
dark,  shining  eyes  flared  out. 

Although  the  slim  hand  that  held  a  lighted  candle 
above  her  head  did  not  shake,  the  woman  was 
evidently  in  a  state  of  extreme  nervous  tension,  and 
there  was  no  pause  before  she  spoke  quickly  in  a 
shrill  voice  with  a  perceptible  foreign  echo  in  it. 

"  Isaac !  Ellen !  Come  quickly !  Your  master  is 
dead !  I  had  just  raised  his  head  and  given  him  his 
medicine  when  he  fell  back  with  a  groan,  dead." 

Ellen's  terrified  grasp  was  still  upon  Isaac's  arm, 
but  he  silently  shook  her  off  and  followed  the  crim- 
son figure  down  the  long  passages  and  up  the  big 
staircase  of  the  silent  house  to  the  death-chamber. 


15 


Ellen,  preferring  to  follow  him,  rather  than  be  left 
alone,  went  too. 

About  the  halls  and  staircase  were  evidences  of 
a  certain  comfort  of  furnishing,  but  in  what  had  so 
lately  been  the  master's  room  was  only  a  bareness 
that  was  all  but  sordid. 

The  faded  carpet  was  worn  into  holes,  the  china 
on  the  wash-stand  was  chipped,  and  of  various  pat- 
terns. 

On  an  uncurtained  iron  bedstead  was  stretched 
out  the  gaunt,  wasted  form  of  a  gray-bearded  man, 
evidently  over  eighty. 

In  spite  of  the  waste  of  extreme  age,  it  was  to  be 
seen,  even  now,  how  strong  and  powerful  had  been 
that  frame;  how  indomitable  the  will  expressed  by 
that  heavy  jaw  and  grim  mouth ;  how  tenacious  the 
grasp  of  that  bony  hand  outstretched  upon  the  bed- 
clothes. 

The  sight  of  the  corpse  seemed  to  act  with  steady- 
ing power  upon  both  the  man  and  woman  servant. 

While  their  mistress  stood  near  the  bed,  still 
holding  the  light,  and  furtively  glancing  from  them 
to  the  dead,  Ellen  came  forward  with  a  professional 
interest  in  her  face.  Many  were  the  dead,  old  and 
young,  whom  her  hands  had  prepared  for  their  long 
rest. 

"  You'll  need  to  stir  up  the  kitchen  fire,  and  get 
the  kettles  on,  Isaac,"  she  said.  "  I'll  want  all  the 
hot  water  that  I  can  get  to-night." 

But  Isaac  stood  unheeding,  his  eyes  never  stir- 
ring from  the  death-mask  of  his  old  master,  his  face 
sphynxlike  in  its  parchment  folds. 

His  mistress  watched  him  as  immovably,  with 
as  intent  a  concentration  of  gaze  upon  him, 

16 


"THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM" 

But  when,  with  a  grunt  of  absent-minded  assent, 
"  Ay,  ay,  I  suppose  so,"  he  turned  away,  there  came 
over  her  a  visible  relaxing  of  some  strain. 

The  next  day  the  storm  was  over.  The  autumn 
sun  shone  brightly,  and  only  a  few  overturned 
fences  and  fallen  trees  told  of  the  night's  havoc. 

At  the  Club,  and  at  street  corners,  men  stood  and 
talked  of  the  life  that  had  passed  away  with  the 
storm,  that  of  the  richest  man  in  the  whole  Province, 
old  Jonathan  Bauer. 

It  had  been  so  long  and  so  varied  a  life,  that 
they  spoke  of  it  in  sections,  the  earlier  parts  of  it 
only  known  to  most  of  them  from  the  talk  of  their 
fathers. 

Jonathan  Bauer  had  begun  life  in  a  small  prosper- 
ous coast-town,  going  out  as  mate  in  one  of  the 
numerous  wooden  vessels  that  came  and  went  be- 
tween the  West  Indies  and  Nova  Scotia.  Salt  fish 
was  their  cargo  out,  and  sugar,  molasses,  rum,  their 
homeward-bound  freight. 

Many  were  the  fortunes  built  up  by  the  owners 
in  those  easy  days  before  steam  and  telegraphy; 
many,  too,  were  the  chances  of  private  trading  open 
to  the  crew.  At  the  beginning,  as  at  the  close  of 
life,  few  chances  escaped  Jonathan  Bauer's  gray  eyes, 
and  soon  he  was  captain  of  such  a  vessel,  then  owner 
of  that  and  of  others.  There  were  troublesome 
years  of  revolutions  and  wars  in  South  America, 
and  other  captains  sometimes  brought  home  strange 
tales  of  privateering  doings  of  "  old  Bauer's  "  on 
the  Spanish  Main,  which  seemed  to  come  perilously 
near  the  line  where  privateering  ends  and  piracy  be- 
gins. However,  his  own  crew  always  held  their 
tongues,  and  after  each  voyage  Jonathan  reappeared 

17 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

in  his  native  town,  more  prosperous,  more  grim  and 
silent  and  respectable  than  ever. 

When  his  one  daughter  married  against  his 
wishes,  he  returned  from  his  next  voyage  with  a 
beautiful  young  French  wife,  whom  he  announced 
to  belong  to  "  one  of  the  real  tip- top  old  French 
families  who  had  come  out  to  settle  in  Martinique." 

Then  he  gave  up  the  sea,  went  into  politics,  and 
moved  to  the  capital,  where  he  built  for  himself  in 
the  suburbs  the  big,  white  wooden  house  in  which 
he  ended  his  days. 

Then  the  Civil  War  brought  the  great  chance  of 
his  life,  and  he  grasped  it  with  a  firm  hand. 

There  were  two  possibilities  of  making  a  fortune ; 
one  in  the  chances  of  blockade-running,  the  other 
in  the  fluctuations  of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange, 
and  of  both  of  these  he  had  made  skilful  use. 

While  the  men  around  him  lavished  their  sympa- 
thy upon  the  South,  he  never  doubted  the  ultimate 
result  of  the  struggle,  meantime,  making  his  profit 
out  of  both  sides. 

The  result  was  wealth,  great  wealth  for  those 
days,  and  then  it  began  to  be  evident  that  shrewdness 
was,  with  the  approach  of  old  age,  developing  into 
miserliness. 

His  handsome  French  wife  might  fret  and  fume 
for  the  splendour  after  which  her  soul  hankered. 
He  was  her  master,  in  his  grimly  humourous  way, 
and  she  knew  it,  and  submitted.  She  was  allowed 
to  entertain,  infrequently,  and  in  a  dull  fashion, 
the  generals  and  admirals  and  political  big-wigs  of 
the  colonial  society  of  the  time. 

She  had  one  child,  a  son,  who  seemed  to  have 


18 


"THE  STRESS  OF  THE  STORM" 

inherited  neither  his  mother's  looks  nor  his  father's 
brains. 

He  grew  up  plain  and  dull,  a  mere  puppet  in  his 
father's  hands,  and  in  the  course  of  time  married 
the  plain  and  dull  daughter  of  a  colonel  in  the 
English  army,  branch  of  a  poor  and  titled  Irish 
house,  and  had  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl. 

Before  this  son  had  hurried  home  from  Boston 
with  his  family,  the  will  was  read. 

It  gave  two-thirds  of  the  estate  to  the  son,  the 
remaining  third  to  the  widow,  with  absolute  dis- 
posal of  her  share. 

To  his  daughter  Susan's  first  child  was  left  the 
old  home  near  Bridgewater,  Isaac  Neisner  to  have 
the  use  of  it  until  it  should  be  claimed,  Isaac  Neisner 
and  Ellen  Sievert  being  each  given  a  small  annuity. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  funeral,  and  Isaac  was 
busying  himself  rearranging  the  furniture  in  the 
big,  bare  dining-room,  where  the  company  had 
gathered. 

A  movement  in  the  room  made  him  look  up,  and 
he  saw  his  mistress  standing  watching  him. 

Of  course  her  dress  was  black,  but  in  her  Southern 
fashion  she  had  huddled  a  red  and  yellow  shawl 
about  her  head  and  neck,  which  kept  up  her  wonted 
fantastic  air. 

"  And  so,  Isaac,  you  have  a  home  now,"  she 
began,  as  he  looked  round,  "  but  you  will  still  stay 
with  me,  will  you  not?  I  should  miss  you  about 
me." 

The  impenetrable  gray  eyes  met  the  fixed  stare 
of  the  black  ones  stolidly,  although  from  the  move- 
ment of  Isaac's  hands,  it  might  have  seemed  that  he 
was  nervous. 

19 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  Thanking  ye  kindly,  ma'am,  but  it's  the  master's 
orders  you  see  that  I  go  back,  and  so  back  I  go. 
And  then,  too,  I'm  thinking  that  it  would  make  me 
feel  younger  again  to  set  a  lobster-pot,  or  take  in 
a  net.  I  don't  get  enough  salt  to  nourish  me  here, 
I  think." 

"  But  if  I  say  that  I  cannot  spare  you,"  she  per- 
sisted. 

Isaac  wriggled  a  bit. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  there's  plenty  of  time  to  be  talking 
it  over,"  he  compromised. 

But  the  next  morning  Isaac  was  gone,  not  even 
having  communicated  his  intentions  to  Ellen,  his 
only  intimate,  and  his  mistress  was  all  day  in  what 
her  servants  called  "  one  of  her  tantrums." 

Soon  after  the  old  man's  death  a  new  era  of  ex- 
penditure began,  followed  by  the  removal  of  the 
whole  family  to  England.  From  thence  came  tales 
of  the  great  estate  purchased  on  the  Thames,  of  the 
quantity  of  servants  kept,  and  the  style  in  which 
the  household  was  conducted. 


CHAPTER    II. 

OLD   FRIENDS 

IT  was  a  cheerless  day  of  early  spring  in  Boston, 
and  the  glow  of  a  wood  fire  gave  its  final  touch 
of  cosiness  to  the  perfection  of  Mrs.  Broderick's 
drawing-room.  What  it  was  that  stamped  that 
room  with  the  hall-mark  of  success  above  all  other 
rooms  that  it  was  ever  compared  with,  it  might  have 
been  hard  to  say. 

"  It's  absence  of  fussiness,"  said  one. 

"  It's  artistic  simplicity,"  said  another. 

"  Money,"  was  a  briefer  comment,  capped  by  as 
brief  a  one  of  "  Brains." 

Certain  it  was  that  both  brains  and  money  had 
been  freely  used  in  the  bringing  together  of  those 
harmonious  tints  and  costly  textures  that  went  to 
create  such  a  sense  of  pleasant  repose. 

It  all  seemed  simple  enough,  the  cheerfulness  of 
the  pink  and  green  French  silks,  the  delicate  outlines 
of  the  Louis  Quinze  furniture,  the  one  or  two 
Greuze-like  crayon  heads  upon  the  wall,  the  few 
bits  of  Dresden  or  Sevres  on  the  stands. 

The  cloudy  afternoon  was  dim  enough  for  the 
flicker  of  the  firelight  to  be  visible  in  the  corners  of 
the  room,  and  to  enrich  with  its  glow  the  silvery 

21 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

folds  of  Mrs.  Broderick's  gray  silk  tea-gown,  edged 
here  and  there  with  touches  of  dark  fur. 

How  was  it  that  a  woman  of  so  absolute  a  sim- 
plicity of  bearing  and  aspect  bore  such  a  hall-mark 
of  fashion,  Gilbert  Clinch  wondered,  as  he  sat  oppo- 
site to  her,  studying  the  woman  with  reminiscences 
of  the  untidy,  enthusiastic  girl  art-student  of  eight 
years  ago. 

Perhaps  he  was  not  enough  man  of  the  world  to 
appreciate  the  costliness  of  the  perfect  lines  of  the 
silk  drapery,  the  finished  art  in  the  carelessness  of 
the  loose  waves  of  fair  hair. 

And  the  serene  and  dainty  bearing  of  the  society 
woman;  perhaps  that  too  had  been  no  less  costly 
an  acquisition  than  the  folds  of  the  gown,  or  the 
style  of  hair-dressing.  But  who  has  ever  gauged 
the  cost  of  that  making  of  a  woman  ? 

"  The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  the  pain, 
For  the  reed  that  grew,  grows  never  again 
'Mid  the  other  reeds  by  the  river." 

There  was  something  impalpable  in  the  air  which 
told  that  these  two  sitting  quietly  facing  each  other 
were  not  merely  engaged  in  the  polite  amenities 
of  society. 

Isabel  Broderick's  face  had  on  it  the  studied  calm 
of  a  long  repression,  and  her  voice  was  even  in  its 
modulations,  but  in  her  clear  blue-gray  eyes  there 
was  an  unconscious  appeal  as  they  rested  on  her 
companion's  intent  face,  and  her  hands  moved  once 
or  twice  to  clasp  each  other  nervously. 

About  the  concentration  of  Gilbert  Clinch's  inter- 
est on  the  woman  before  him  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take, but  although  there  was  a  certain  conquered 

22 


OLD    FRIENDS 

emotion  hinted  at,  it  hardly  seemed  due  to  the  noon 
of  beauty  or  to  its  luxurious  setting. 

Rather,  there  was  the  scientific  calm  of  the  natu- 
ralist studying  some  rare  specimen;  of  the  man, 
used,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  to  watch  the  involved 
workings  of  the  troubled  mind ;  for  Gilbert  Clinch 
was  already  being  spoken  of,  in  high  medical  circles, 
as  a  man  with  a  future  before  him  amongst  the 
alienists  of  the  country. 

His  study  of  Mrs.  Broderick  was  not,  however, 
that  of  a  possible  patient. 

Not  the  most  careless  eye  could  scan  her  without 
marking  the  perfect  equipoise  of  her  physical  and 
mental  balance.  She  might  have  been  chosen  as  the 
type  of  "  the  sane  mind  in  the  sane  body."  But  it 
was  to  her  tale,  told  in  a  sweet,  low  voice,  that  the 
young  doctor  had  been  listening. 

"  You  have  done  as  I  asked  you  to,  and  had 
a  talk  with  the  two  doctors  about  my  husband  ?  " 
she  had  asked,  after  a  brief,  yet  kindly  greeting. 

Gilbert  settled  himself  back  in  the  deep  chair,  as 
he  began,  gravely: 

"  Yes,  and  what  they  said  quite  carried  out  the 
idea  that  you  had  given  me.  Putting  aside  techni- 
calities, it  is  an  ordinary  case  of  melancholia,  with, 
I  fear,  the  almost  certainty  of  its  increasing  into 
more  acute  mania.  Of  course  his  hereditary  record 
goes  against  him.  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  that 
I  can  see,  save  to  follow  the  advice  that  they  have 
given  you.  Let  him  have  as  quiet  an  outdoor  life 
as  possible,  and  above  all  things  keep  up  his  interest 
in  his  painting.  We  need  not  despair  until  that 
goes.  It  is  only  a  sane  person  who  can  work." 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Mrs.  Broderick's  face  brightened  responsive  to  his 
words. 

"  Oh,  his  whole  heart  seems  in  his  work.  Of 
course  his  subjects  are  strange;  they  have  always 
been  strange  for  the  matter  of  that.  Have  you  ever 
seen  any  of  his  things  ?  " 

"  Only  the  picture  exhibited  last  year,  of  the  New 
England  witches  being  taken  to  death.  I  thought 
it  very  powerful." 

"  It  was.  It  was  also  the  least  mystical  of  all 
his  subjects.  They  are  almost  always  of  saints  and 
visions,  and  of  late  they  have  grown  still  more  weird 
and  vague.  But  there  is  always  the  same  genius  in 
them,"  she  added,  with  an  evident  pride. 

"  And  does  he  show  much  pleasure  in  his  work  ?  " 
Gilbert  asked.  In  spite  of  his  familiarity  with  the 
tragedies  of  life,  he  felt  an  intense^pity  for  this 
woman  whom  he  had  known  as  an  ardent  girl. 

Her  face  shadowed  again. 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  tell.  He  has  grown  so  silent, 
and  takes  so  little  notice.  But  he  is  always  gentle 
and  pathetic.  If  you  saw  him  often,  you  would 
never,  I  am  sure,  ask  me  to  consent  to  putting  him 
under  restraint  or  to  leaving  him,  both  of  which 
courses  the  doctors  have  suggested." 

"  Restraint  in  time  is  almost  always  the  wisest 
plan,"  Gilbert  answered,  cautiously. 

There  was  a  troubling  of  Mrs.  Broderick's  sur- 
face calm,  as  she  leaned  forward  with  clasped  hands. 

"  Surely  not  in  this  case,  where  I  am  willing  to 
give  myself  up  altogether  to  making  the  days  better 
for  him.  Surely  there  is  no  one  who  could  keep 
up  his  interest  in  his  painting  as  I  can,  who  have 
always  worked  with  him  ?  " 


OLD    FRIENDS 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Gilbert  acknowledged,  willing 
to  bring  about  gradually  her  facing  of  the  inevitable. 
"  But  you  must  always  remember,  there  is  a  point  at 
which  self-sacrifice  becomes  useless  folly." 

She  scarcely  seemed  to  heed  his  caution  as  she 
went  on: 

"  The  problem  of  how  to  do  the  best  for  him  had 
been  working  in  my  mind  when  I  heard  that  you 
were  here  in  town,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  you  were 
the  person  for  me  to  appeal  to,  and  that  was  why 
I  wrote  and  asked  you  to  come  to  see  me.  You 
know  "  —  here  for  the  first  time,  a  faint  flush  crossed 
her  face  —  "  you  know  that  money  is  no  question 
in  our  plans.  There  is,  in  almost  any  case,  more 
than  we  need  spend.  I  heard  from  Doctor  Smart 
of  the  work  that  you  have  done  in  the  Michigan 
asylum,  and  of  how  much  is  expected  of  you.  He 
told  me,  too,  that  you  were  ordered  a  holiday,  and 
outdoor  life  for  a  time."  She  hesitated,  as  though 
feeling  the  difficulty  of  what  she  wished  to  say. 

"  Is  it  too  much  of  a  sacrifice  to  ask  of  you, 
that  you  will,  at  a  salary  named  by  Doctor  Smart, 
take  complete  charge  of  my  husband  for  the  sum- 
mer ?  I  would  leave  the  choice  of  locality  altogether 
to  you,  only  asking  that  it  be  some  place  out  of 
the  way  of  ordinary  travel,  where  there  will  be  little 
chance  of  meeting  familiar  faces.  I  do  not  mind 
how  simple  our  surroundings  may  be,  only  provided 
that  we  are  remote  from  every  one  and  everything 
we  have  ever  known." 

Her  voice  shook,  but  she  recovered  herself,  and 
went  on,  more  quietly : 

"  It  should  be  by  the  sea,  too,  for  once  he  loved 
sailing,  and  it  is  always  possible  that  he  might  rouse 

25 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

up  to  be  interested  in  it  again.  We  can  try  this 
for  the  summer,  and  then  —  well,  if  my  plan  does 
not  succeed,  I  promise  to  do  as  the  doctors  wish. 
Tell  me,  will  you  think  this  over  for  a  few  days,  and 
give  me  your  answer?  " 

Gilbert  roused  himself  from  the  charm  of  the 
low  tones. 

"  It  needs  no  thinking  over,  and  it  involves  no 
sacrifice  on  my  part,"  he  said,  decisively.  "  As  you 
say,  I  am  ordered  a  holiday  of  outdoor  life,  but 
interesting  holidays  are  not  such  easy  things  to 
manage  on  limited  means.  Your  proposal  supplies 
both  the  professional  interest  of  the  case,  and  the 
friendly  interest  of  helping  you.  Believe  me,  I  am 
truly  gratified  that  your  thoughts  should  have  turned 
to  me  in  your  distress,  and  I  will  try  to  justify  your 
impulse;  "  then,  with  a  more  matter-of-fact  tone: 

"  Tell  me,  is  there  any  place  that  you  have  thought 
of?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  meditatively.  "  I  had  only  a 
vague  idea  of  a  fishing  village  somewhere  on  the 
Maine  coast.  You  don't  know  of  any  such  place, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  happened  to  meet  a  friend  to-day,  brown 
and  rugged-looking,  and  I  asked  him  whence  came 
his  offensively  outdoor  aspect.  It  turned  out  that 
he  had  been  salmon-fishing  down  on  the  Nova 
Scotian  coast.  It  was  that  put  the  idea  into  my 
head.  There  seem  to  be  lots  of  such  places  as  you 
describe,  and  getting  there  by  water  would  be  a 
very  simple  business." 

Mrs.  Broderick  was  apparently  lacking  in  the 
feminine  love  of  ample  discussion. 

"  Well,  there  is  no  hurry,  for  it  can  scarcely  be 
26 


OLD    FRI  ENDS 

weather  to  get  settled  comfortably  in  the  country 
for  six  weeks  yet,"  she  said.  "  Suppose  you  took  a 
run  down  there  to  see,  and  choose  for  yourself.  I 
will  leave  the  decision  entirely  to  you.  Is  that 
asking  too  much  from  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  merely  asking  me  to  take  a  pleasure-trip 
on  new  ground,  and  you  know  of  old  what  a  wan- 
derer I  am,"  Gilbert  answered. 

An  after-thought  seeming  to  occur  to  him,  he 
hesitated,  and  then  plunged  boldly  into  the  subject. 
"  I  have  not  asked  what  you  intend  doing  with 
your  child.  You  were  not  planning  to  take  him 
with  you,  I  suppose?  " 

As  a  dog  starts  on  the  first  note  of  danger,  Mrs. 
Broderick  seemed  to  be  aroused  into  alertness. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  It  can  hardly  seem  advisable  to  you,  I  should 
•think,"  was  his  quiet  answer. 

"  I  could  not  have  the  courage  for  the  effort, 
if  I  had  to  part  with  my  child,"  she  broke  out,  pas- 
sionately. "  You  cannot  suppose  that  with  the  pre- 
cautions we  should  take,  there  would  be  the  slightest 
danger  to  him  ?  " 

"No."  Gilbert  admitted.  "I  must  allow  that 
it  hardly  seems  probable.  But  I  am  convinced 
that  the  early  memories  of  children  are  more  tena- 
cious than  we  are  apt  to  fancy,  and  it  might  be  best 
to  keep  him  apart.  However,  I  can  understand  how 
you  shrink  from  the  separation,  and  I  trust  that  we 
can  avoid  it.  Of  course,  we  must  have  a  strong 
man-servant  trained  to  the  work.  With  myself,  he 
ought  to  do.  Then  you  must  promise  me  never  to 
be  alone  with  him." 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

He  looked  at  her  expectantly,  but  her  acquiescence 
was  slow  to  come. 

"  I  can  always  soothe  him  better  than  any  one," 
she  objected. 

"  That  power  might  suddenly  fail  at  the  crucial 
moment.  I  really  must  insist  on  this  condition." 

His  eyes  and  voice  were  equally  determined,  and, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  Mrs.  Broderick  yielded. 

"  Very  well,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  she  agreed, 
gently. 

Gilbert  met  her  smile  with  compunction. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  oppose  your  slightest  wish  in 
the  matter,"  he  said.  "  Believe  me,  I  would  not 
do  so  if  it  were  not  for  the  responsibility  that  must 
rest  on  me  in  this  affair." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know,"  she  said,  hastily,  "  and  I 
assure  you  that  I  do  not  mean  to  add  to  it  by  any 
unreasonableness  on  my  part.  And  you  think  you 
can  go  soon  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  I  hope.  There  is  nothing  to  detain 
me  here.  And  so  I  had  better  say  good-bye  now." 

They  had  risen,  and  as  Gilbert  stood  holding  her 
hand,  the  old  magnetism  of  her  presence  swept  over 
him.  He  rejoiced  in  his  youth  and  strength  that 
enabled  him  to  serve  her,  while  the  man  whom  she 
had  chosen  was  a  helpless  burden  upon  her  hands. 

"  I  hope  you  know  how  I  would  thank  you  if  I 
could,"  were  her  parting  words,  and  the  sound  of 
them  lingered  in  his  brain  as  he  went  out  into 
the  cold  drizzle  of  the  cheerless  streets. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

GILBERT  CLINCH'S  visit  to  Mrs.  Broder- 
ick,  with  its  resultant  compact,  had  fur- 
nished him  with  a  bewildering  amount  of 
food  for  thought. 

Eight  years  before,  he  had  been  the  guest  of  a  fel- 
low-student in  a  roomy  old  farmhouse  in  the  Ver- 
mont hills,  occupied  for  the  summer  by  a  hospitable 
family.  Isabel  Steele  had  come  there  to  visit  the 
daughter,  who  studied  with  her  in  the  art  school. 

She  was  then  eighteen,  badly  dressed  and  angular, 
with  a  manner  alternately  shy  and  impulsive,  and 
only  by  fits  and  starts  gave  a  promise  of  the  charm 
that  was  later  to  make  her  a  well-known  society 
woman. 

The  bewitching  hand  of  midsummer  was  laid  on 
these  two  impetuous  young  hearts,  and  certain  senti- 
mental scenes  were  a  foregone  conclusion. 

But  they  were  both  poor  and  ambitious;  both 
straining  every  nerve  to  conquer  the  difficulties  that 
barred  their  chosen  careers.  They  had  both  served 
their  apprenticeship  in  the  school  of  small  daily 
self-denials  for  a  dominant  purpose. 

And  so,  with  the  summer  their  companionship 

29 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

had  ended,  each  going  back  to  their  work  choking 
down  a  certain  heartache. 

The  next  spring  Gilbert  had  heard  of  Miss  Steele's 
going  abroad,  and,  within  the  year,  of  her  marriage 
to  Andrew  Broderick,  the  only  son  of  the  million- 
aire, said  to  be,  on  his  own  account,  an  artist  of 
much  promise. 

"  Rather  an  unfair  deal  of  the  fates,  to  have 
given  him  the  brains  that  poor  men  need,"  Gilbert 
had  commented  to  himself  somewhat  bitterly,  as  he 
read  the  glowing  accounts  of  the  marriage  in  the 
paper. 

In  the  changes  of  the  next  few  years,  that  bitter- 
ness had  all  died  away,  and  it  was  with  a  kindly 
interest  that  he  noted  the  varied  statements  about 
Mrs.  Broderick's  social  successes,  her  dresses,  and 
entertainments,  the  occasional  pictures  she  had 
painted  and  exhibited.  And  now,  to  his  bewilder- 
ment, he  found  that  he  had  in  a  measure  become  her 
paid  retainer.  Not  that  he  was  really  sensitive  to 
the  fact,  for  he  knew  that  the  service  he  was  to  do 
her  was  more  than  could  be  rewarded  by  money. 
All  the  same,  he  would  have  liked  to  lay  that  service 
at  her  feet  with  a  lordly  generosity. 

But  such  generosity  is  an  expensive  thing,  and 
although  he  had  attained  to  a  tolerable  certainty  as 
to  his  daily  comforts,  he  could  not  feel  justified  in  it. 
Besides,  how  could  he  expect  Mrs.  Broderick  to 
accept  such  services  save  on  a  business  footing  ?  And 
so  he  smothered  down  the  feeling,  as  he  had  smoth- 
ered many  such  results  of  poverty,  with  a  mental 
note  of  combat  against  that  crippling  power. 

He  tried  to  arouse  all  his  powers  of  trained  be- 
neficence toward  the  man  over  whom  hovered  so 

SO 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

hapless  a  fate.  Neither  Gilbert  nor  the  authorities 
with  whom  he  had  spoken  had  any  doubt  that  the 
course  of  a  year  would  see  Andrew  Broderick  a 
pronounced  maniac.  But  still,  he  was  not  that 
now,  and  if  his  wife  chose  to  go  on  fighting  a  hope- 
less battle,  well,  she  had  the  money  that  gave  her 
power  to  do  so. 

After  all,  nearly  everything  in  the  world  is  a 
matter  of  money. 

And  so  Gilbert  began  to  meditate  on  the  practical 
details  of  his  undertaking.  He  knew  the  man  whom 
he  would  choose  as  attendant,  quiet,  strong,  obedient. 

He  went  off  at  once  to  look  for  the  fisherman 
who  had  given  him  the  idea  of  locality,  and  before 
he  returned  to  his  rooms  that  night,  he  was  sup- 
plied with  a  full  programme  of  travel.  Then  he 
sat  down  to  write  to  his  widowed  mother  in  her 
home  in  a  quiet  Canadian  town.  For  Gilbert  was 
a  Canadian  by  birth,  although,  like  so  many  of 
his  fellow  countrymen,  an  American  by  education. 

He  told  her,  with  his  usual  briefness,  of  this  new 
undertaking  of  his,  and  of  the  neighbourhood  on 
the  Nova  Scotian  coast  that  he  was  about  to  visit 
in  search  of  summer  quarters. 

There  had  never  been  a  habit  of  familiar  confi- 
dence between  mother  and  son  since  Gilbert  had 
outgrown  her  narrow  creed  and  austere  life. 

Her  answer  reached  him  at  the  end  of  his  sea 
trip  to  Halifax. 

He  was  at  once  struck  by  some  unfamiliar  note 
of  agitation  in  it. 

"  It  is  another  of  the  strange  manifestations  of 
the  guiding  hand  of  Providence  that  have  ruled  my 
life,"  she  wrote,  "  that  you  should,  in  all  ignorance, 

31 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

have  decided  to  go  to  the  spot  where  I  was  born 
and  grew  up,  and  where  your  father  and  I  met. 

"  It  was  through  his  wise  decision  that  you  were 
left  in  this  ignorance  of  our  early  life.  It  is  possible 
that  you  may  meet  no  one  who  would  recognise 
your  name,  for  it  is  more  than  forty  years  since  we 
left  there,  and,  save  my  father,  I  had  no  near  rela- 
tives, and  but  few  friends. 

"  I  feel  no  present  tie  between  me  and  my  old 
home,  nor  any  wish  to  see  it  again.  My  real  home 
is  here,  where  I  spent  the  happiest  years  of  my  life 
with  your  father,  where  many  of  his  congregation 
still  revere  his  memory. 

"  I  think  that  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  announce 
your  parentage  to  any  one  whom  you  may  meet, 
but  if  it  should  chance  that  your  name  is  recognised 
and  your  family  spoken  of,  you  will  do  wisely  to 
write  to  me  at  once  as  to  what  you  may  have  heard. 
I  have  nothing  to  conceal,  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of,  although  both  your  father  and  I  agreed  that  it 
was  unnecessary  for  you  to  hear  the  story  of  our 
lives." 

Gilbert  Clinch  sat  on  the  veranda  of  a  country 
hotel  and  re-read  this  letter  with  an  unpleasant 
sensation.  He  had  often  before  wondered  at  his 
parents'  reticence,  and  had  as  often  put  aside  the  idea 
that  it  signified  anything  beyond  a  reserved  habit  of 
mind.  He  had  gone  out  into  the  world  so  young, 
and  had  so  immediately  become  absorbed  in  the 
battle  of  life,  that  all  these  family  ways  had  become 
unreal  to  him. 

And  now,  when  he  was  most  occupied  with  other 
thoughts,  these  feelings  of  his  youth  had  suddenly 
awakened  into  significance.  This  letter  had  reached 

8* 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

him  at  Halifax,  had  tormented  him  through  the 
prolonged  hours  of  a  foggy  coasting  trip,  was  tor- 
menting him  on  as  he  sat  smoking  on  the  veranda 
of  the  little  hotel,  on  the  height  above  the  small 
town  of  Bridgewater. 

It  had  distracted  his  thoughts  a  little  while  before, 
when  he  had  strolled  in  the  clear  twilight  by  the 
beautiful  river-banks,  to  watch  the  ships  loading 
with  lumber  in  the  stream,  and  the  cone  of  fire  that 
rose  against  the  sunset  from  the  chimney  of  the 
sawdust-burning  furnace  at  the  great  lumber-mills 
above  the  town. 

Now,  with  a  sudden  resolution,  he  put  his  mother's 
words  aside.  They  probably  belonged  to  that 
shadow-land  of  theological  self -tormenting  where 
his  parents'  path  had  lain.  He  himself  had  chosen 
the  broad  daylight  of  scientific  thought  and  action. 
Let  him  abide  in  it,  then,  and  see  to  his  chosen 
task. 

He  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  bright,  active  little 
town  on  its  broad  river,  but  saw  that  it  was  not 
suited  to  his  purpose.  He  must  get  farther,  toward 
the  more  lonely  places  by  the  sea. 

He  had  already  interviewed  the  landlord  and  one 
of  the  general  business  men  of  small  country  towns, 
as  to  any  such  remote  seaside  dwelling,  but  they 
knew  of  none,  and  could  only  recommend  him  to 
go  "  down  toward  the  French  settlements." 

So  the  next  morning,  with  a  pleasant  sense  of 
exploration  of  unknown  regions,  Gilbert  started  off 
in  a  buggy,  following  a  road  that  wound  seaward 
along  the  shores  of  the  ever-widening  La  Have. 

It  was  a  sunny  morning,  and  the  subtle  charm 
of  the  capricious  Northern  spring  lay  over  ths  laud* 

33 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

The  red  tassels  of  the  maple  blossoms  swayed 
beside  the  white  clusters  of  the  Indian-pear  and 
wild-cherry  blossom.  The  scent  of  spruce  came 
from  the  damp  shades;  the  woods  were  astir  after 
their  long  ice  and  snow  captivity. 

As  he  went  on,  the  cheerful  little  white  houses 
by  the  river  became  more  scattered,  and  then  gradu- 
ally ceased,  while  the  dark  woods  crowded  down  to 
the  roadside.  But  there  were  always  the  open  views 
up  and  down  the  stately  brightness  of  the  river  as 
it  broadened  out  to  meet  the  sea,  amongst  low 
islands  and  long  yellow  sand-bars.  Noonday  had 
passed,  and  Gilbert  had  been  for  some  time  driving 
through  the  solitude  of  thick  spruce  woods,  with  a 
growing  interest  in  the  problem  of  a  possible  meal, 
and  rest  for  himself  and  his  horse. 

All  at  once,  the  woods  fell  away  to  reveal  a  slope 
of  green  fields,  down  to  a  cove  between  which  and 
the  open  bay  ran  out  a  long  line  of  sand.  An  un- 
painted  gray  farmhouse  faced  the  water,  with  a 
path  rambling  down  to  it  between  old  apple-trees. 

There  was  an  ancient  gray  wharf,  and  one  or  two 
weather-beaten  sheds;  altogether  the  place  looked 
as  though  it  might  have  been  of  importance  in  its 
day,  although  that  day  was  plainly  over. 

While  old,  the  house  had  about  it  an  exact  trim- 
ness,  and  there  were  even  signs  of  a  garden  along 
the  path  leading  to  the  door. 

"  Now  that's  a  place  with  possibilities,"  came 
in  a  sudden  idea  to  Gilbert.  "  At  any  rate,  it's  not 
sordid.  Well,  let's  see  if  there  is  food  for  man  and 
beast  to  be  procured  here.  Hello,  there's  an  ancient 
mariner." 

The  ancient  mariner  was  seated  on  the  door-step, 
34 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

smoking  a  pipe,  and  as  he  looked  up,  Gilbert  saw 
that  he  must  be  over  seventy. 

A  mop  of  grizzled  hair  surrounded  a  face  of 
parchment  texture,  seamed  by  the  many  storms  of 
life,  but  the  small  gray  eyes  were  still  keen  and 
bright. 

They  were  the  only  sign  that  he  was  conscious  of 
Gilbert's  approach,  as  the  latter  left  his  horse  and 
walked  toward  the  house. 

"  Good  morning,"   Gilbert  began. 

"  Mornin',"  with  an  all  but  imperceptible  nod. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  a  house  at 
which  to  get  a  meal  ?  " 

'  There's  an  inn  three  miles  on,  at  La  Falaise." 

This  remark  was  made  in  the  most  non-committal 
fashion,  as  though  to  disclaim  any  personal  interest 
in  the  traveller's  needs. 

Gilbert  accepted  this  attitude  philosophically. 

"That  is  a  village?" 

"  Yes." 

"  There  are  no  nearer  houses  ?  " 

"  None." 

'You  live  here  alone?" 

'  Yes,  with  a  boy,  a  grandson." 

"  Have  you  ever  let  your  house?  " 

The  old  man  had  made  no  movement,  but  his 
twinkling  eyes  brightened  in  interest,  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  No,  can't  say  that  I  have  as  yet.  Happen  to  be 
looking  for  one  to  hire?" 

'  That's  just  what  I  am  looking  for.  I  want  a 
place  for  the  summer  close  to  the  sea,  and  not  too 
near  any  village.  Do  you  happen  to  know  of  any- 
such  place  ?  " 

35 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  Don't  know  much  of  other  people's  houses  or 
affairs.  'Tend  to  my  own.  But  they're  sometimes 
queer  kind  of  people  that  are  wanting  lonely  houses 
near  the  sea.  What  might  you  be  meaning  to  do 
with  it?" 

Gilbert,  thinking  he  detected  an  impulse  of  parley, 
answered,  conciliatingly : 

"  I  want  it  for  an  American  lady,  who  has  an 
invalid  husband  needing  quiet  and  outdoor  life.  I 
am  a  doctor,  and  I  should  be  with  them." 

"And  you  are  a  Yankee,  too?"  was  the  next 
question. 

Gilbert's  amusement  helped  to  curb  his  rising 
impatience. 

"  No,  I  am  a  Canadian." 

"  And  what  might  your  name  be?  "  was  the  next 
query. 

Looking  into  those  keen  eyes,  Gilbert  had  a  sud- 
den strange  sense  of  conjuring  with  an  unknown 
spell,  as  he  answered : 

"  My  name  is  Gilbert  Clinch,  though  that  can 
hardly  interest  you.  I  thought  that  perhaps  this 
house  might  have  suited  my  purpose,  but  I  see  that 
I  must  go  farther." 

If  he  had  expected  any  startling  change  through 
recognition  of  his  name,  he  was  certainly  disap- 
pointed, but  at  this  hint  of  moving  on  the  old  man 
did  stand  up,  saying  with  more  heartiness : 

"  No  need  to  be  in  such  a  hurry.  Who  knows 
that  it  mightn't  suit  you  after  all?  At  any  rate, 
come  in  and  have  a  snack,  that  is,  if  you  can  eat 
sailors'  fare,  cold  pork  and  hard  biscuit.  No  harm 
done  in  talking  it  over  at  any  rate." 

It  was  with  a  distinct  consciousness  of  victory 
36 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

that  Gilbert  followed  him  into  the  square  room, 
half  kitchen,  half  living-room,  into  which  the  door 
opened. 

One  glance  showed  him  the  possibilities  of  the 
place.  Everything  was  spotlessly  clean,  and  there 
were  two  sunny  windows  looking  out  toward  the 
sea. 

"  The  stove  taken  away,  and  the  fireplace  opened 
up ;  the  floor  stained  and  rugs  laid  down ;  a  curtain 
over  the  door  leading  into  the  back  kitchen,"  he 
summed  up  rapidly  to  himself,  while  the  old  man 
bustled  over  to  the  cupboard,  that  bore  a  great 
resemblance  to  a  ship's  lockers. 

About  every  arrangement  of  his  simple  belong- 
ings, there  was  this  nautical  suggestion.  As  they 
began  their  austere  meal,  Gilbert  was  careful  to 
keep  from  any  further  reference  to  business.  Instead 
of  which,  he  spoke  of  his  own  seafaring  experiences 
in  a  yachting  trip  to  the  West  Indies  with  a  patient, 
and  the  bait  was  immediately  taken. 

Gilbert  now  received  his  first  information  of  the 
fact  he  was  afterward  to  have  more  fully  impressed 
upon  him,  that  to  these  remote  "  longshore  "  folk, 
the  West  Indian  Islands  are  "  just  over  the  way," 
places  to  which  if  a  man  has  not  voyaged  himself, 
his  father  and  brothers  and  neighbours  are  likely 
to  have  been,  and  the  names  of  which  are  of  lifelong 
familiarity  to  him. 

Many  a  quiet  old  woman,  sitting  by  her  fireside 
through  long  Northern  winters,  can  recall  the  days 
when,  as  wife  to  the  captain  of  a  sailing  vessel,  she 
felt  the  glare  of  the  tropic  sun  over  the  Caribbean 
Sea,  heard  the  rustle  of  the  wind  in  the  palm  leaves. 

His  host  seemed  as  familiar  with  every  spot  men- 

37 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

tioned  as  he  must  be  with  the  shoals  and  currents  of 
the  La  Have  River,  and  Gilbert  observed  on  the  high 
mantel,  branching  sprays  of  coral  and  sea-fans, 
evident  spoils  of  past  voyages.  Warmed  by  such 
reminiscences,  the  old  man  became  quite  garrulous, 
but  presently  Gilbert  found  that  he  was  harking 
back  to  his  former  questioning. 

"  Not  been  much  with  your  home  folks,  I  guess, 
as  you're  such  a  young  fellow,  and  been  made  a 
doctor,  and  then  travelling,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  I'm  older  than  I  look,"  Gilbert  answered, 
carelessly.  "  But,  no,  I  haven't  been  much  at  home. 
If  one  has  one's  way  to  make  in  the  world,  it's  best 
to  begin  early,  and  learn  to  take  the  rough  with  the 
smooth." 

This  bit  of  philosophy  apparently  passed  un- 
heeded, for  it  was  followed  by  the  brief  query: 

"Father  dead?" 

"  Yes,  my  father  died  when  I  was  eighteen,"  was 
the  answer,  given  with  suitable  gravity. 

"  Then  there  was  just  your  mother  and  you?  " 

Gilbert  noticed  with  that  strange  quickening  of 
interest,  that  the  old  man  was  taking  it  for  granted 
that  he  had  no  brothers  or  sisters.  He  looked 
straight  into  the  other's  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"  Yes,  only  my  mother  and  me.  She  came  from 
somewhere  about  this  neighbourhood,  but  my  father 
belonged  to  Ontario,  and  they  returned  there  soon 
after  their  marriage." 

Under  the  steady  questioning  of  his  gaze,  the  old 
man's  eyes  shifted  uneasily. 

"  Indeed,  indeed,"  he  said,  slowly,  then  with  a 
sudden  turn :  "  Well,  now,  what  of  this  fancy  of 


THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

yours  about  the  house  ?  If  you  were  really  thinking 
it  might  suit  you,  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to 
take  a  look  at  it,  would  it  ?  " 

"  An  excellent  idea,"  the  other  agreed,  glad  to 
leave  surmises  for  facts. 


39 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  IN    HER   SERVICE  " 

AS  Gilbert  followed  his  guide  from  room  to 
room,  he  found  that  the  old  house  was  larger 
than  he  had  thought  it. 

Off  the  ground  floor  was  a  sort  of  wing  of  two 
rooms  which  he  decided  would  be  suitable  for  Mr. 
Broderick  and  his  attendant.  Up-stairs  the  rooms, 
though  low  with  the  slope  of  the  roof,  were  large, 
and  would  supply  accommodation  for  the  rest  of 
the  party. 

"  The  house  would  suit  me  well  enough,"  he 
announced,  presently.  "  Now  the  question  is, 
whether  you  are  willing  to  let  it.  By  the  by,  I 
don't  know  your  name  yet." 

"  Neither  you  do,"  the  other  agreed.  They  were 
now  smoking  their  pipes  in  amity  upon  the  door- 
steps. 

"  Isaac,  it  is,"  he  went  on,  "  Isaac  Neisner,  and 
Neisner  is  as  well-known  a  Dutch  name  as  there 
is  from  here  to  Lunenburg.  Well,  as  to  letting  the 
house.  Can't  say  as  the  idea  ever  occurred  to  me 
before,  but  come  to  think  of  it,  don't  see  why  I 
shouldn't.  That's  to  say,  if  you  don't  want  me  to 
clear  out,  but  will  let  me  and  the  boy  put  up  in  that 
little  lean-to  off  the  barn  over  there,  so  that  I  can 

40 


"IN    HER    SERVICE" 

come  and  go  with  my  boat  handy,  and  dig  the  pota- 
toes, and  see  to  the  pig  and  the  chickens.  I  sha'n't 
be  in  your  way." 

Gilbert  had  marked  the  remains  of  strength  in 
the  brawny  frame,  the  shrewd  determination  in  the 
old  face,  and  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  decided 
advantage  to  have  such  a  person  about  the  place. 
It  would  add  to  the  force  to  be  counted  on  in  an 
emergency  with  his  patient. 

"  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't,"  he  said,  heartily. 
"  And  I'm  sure  you  will  have  no  trouble  in  getting 
on  with  Mrs.  Broderick.  Look  here,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  sudden  impulse  toward  frankness  —  "I  think 
before  we  close  our  bargain,  that  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  the  gentleman  is  in  rather  a  queer  state 
of  mind.  Not  mad,  you  know,  but  melancholy; 
hardly  speaks  or  takes  notice  of  any  one.  The 
doctors  want  him  to  have  quiet  and  sea  air,  and  I 
have  promised  to  look  after  him.  Now  you  know 
all  about  it." 

But  again  Isaac  took  him  by  surprise. 

"  I  thought  all  along  it  must  be  something  like 
that,"  was  his  comment.  "  But  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  are  these  people  friends  of  yours?  " 

Gilbert  felt  thoroughly  puzzled  by  the  question, 
and  by  the  evident  importance  attached  to  it,  though 
he  was  careful  to  give  no  sign  of  his  perplexity. 

"  Yes,  they  are  my  friends,"  was  his  quiet 
answer. 

"  All  right  then.  That  settles  it.  A  whole  mad- 
house wouldn't  matter  to  me.  I've  seen  worse 
than  that  in  my  day.  We'll  call  it  a  bargain  then  ?  " 

"  We  had  better  arrange  the  terms  first,"  Gilbert 
objected. 

41 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

When  they  came  to  money  matters,  he  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  the  indifference  that  Neisner  dis- 
played. He  might  have  been  a  millionaire,  letting 
a  shooting-box  to  a  duke  as  a  matter  of  courtesy, 
for  all  the  interest  he  showed. 

However,  the  sum  that  Gilbert  offered  him  was 
liberal  enough  to  have  satisfied  any  one,  and  both 
seemed  content  with  the  arrangement.  Gilbert  told 
him  that  he  would  telegraph  Mrs.  Broderick  for 
her  approval,  and  would  then  come  down  again 
from  Bridgewater  to  see  to  the  furnishing  of  the 
house. 

Isaac  had  grown  so  friendly  that  he  seemed 
almost  unwilling  to  let  him  out  of  his  sight. 

Gilbert  was  sitting  in  his  buggy,  all  ready  to  start, 
and  still  the  old  man  stood  with  his  hand  on  the 
side  of  the  carriage. 

"  Know  your  mother's  maiden  name?  "  he  blurted 
out,  suddenly. 

Here  it  was,  this  uncanny  interest  cropping  up 
again,  Gilbert  said  to  himself,  as  he  answered,  some- 
what brusquely: 

"  Of  course  I  do ;  why  shouldn't  I  ?  It  was 
Bauer.  Dutch,  like  yours,  I  fancy.  Do  you  know 
any  one  of  that  name  in  the  neighbourhood  now  ?  " 

Again,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  the  old  man 
seemed  to  shy  away  from  the  subject. 

"  Used  to  be  some  about,  but  none  now  that  I 
know  of,"  he  said,  evasively. 

"  My  mother  told  me  that  she  thought  she  had 
no  relations  left  here,"  Gilbert  agreed. 

"  Hum!  Mother  well  off?  "  and  again  came  the 
furtively  questioning  glance. 

The  original  Ancient  Mariner  was  a  joke  to  this 
42 


"IN    HER    SERVICE" 

one,  Gilbert  thought  to  himself,  while  answering, 
sedately  : 

"  She  has  always  had  enough  to  live  comfortably 
on.  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  nothing  particular.  Old  folks  like  to 
gossip,  you  know.  It's  about  all  we're  good  for. 
But  I  was  never  one  to  talk  much,  and  you  won't 
find  me  troublesome." 

An  undertone  of  wistfulness  in  the  gruff  voice 
touched  Gilbert. 

"  I'm  sure  not,"  he  said,  heartily.  "  Well,  I  must 
be  off.  You'll  hear  from  me  soon,"  and  with  a  grip 
of  the  horny  old  hand,  he  went  his  way. 

There  was  plenty  of  food  for  thought  as  he  drove 
back  in  the  chill  yellow  twilight. 

He  felt  in  curious  sympathy  with  his  new  friend 
Isaac  Neisner,  although  he  had  not  a  doubt  that 
the  old  man  was  keeping  back  from  him  some 
information  as  to  his  knowledge  of  Gilbert's  parents. 

What  did  it  mean,  this  atmosphere  of  mystery 
that  encircled  so  prosaic  a  couple  as  the  minister 
and  his  wife  must  always  have  been? 

'  They  must  have  changed  their  sect,  and  believed 
or  not  believed  something,  and  made  a  tragedy  out 
of  it,"  he  asserted,  dogmatically,  to  himself,  with, 
all  the  time,  an  unpleasant  underlying  sense  that 
there  might  be  some  very  different  reason. 

Even  prosaic,  middle-aged  clergymen  and  their 
wives  have  been,  ere  now,  found  not  exempt  from 
the  sins  and  passions  that  go  to  make  up  the  trage- 
dies of  life. 

While  waiting  to  hear  from  Mrs.  Broderick,  Gil- 
bert made  himself  at  home  in  Bridgewater,  with  the 
result  of  imbibing  a  good  deal  of  local  gossip. 

48 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

The  announcement  of  his  purpose  of  becoming 
Isaac  Neisner's  tenant  brought  out  a  flood  of  in- 
formation. 

"  Old  Neisner's  down  Falaise  way  ?  Yes,  they 
call  it  '  The  Pirates'  Moorings.'  Why  ?  Oh,  well, 
you  see  there  was  a  rich  old  man  owned  it,  and  left 
it  to  Neisner.  He  died,  a  grand  sort  of  a  person 
in  Halifax,  and  rich!  There  wasn't  another  man 
in  all  the  Province  so  rich.  But  all  the  same,  the 
country-folk  about  here  have  always  called  him 
pirate  and  always  will.  They  say  he  began  to  make 
his  money  in  queer  ways,  when  he  was  a  young 
man  and  used  to  sail  to  the  Spanish  Main.  You 
won't  easily  get  any  one  to  go  there  with  you,  for 
the  house  is  said  to  be  haunted  by  spirits  in  search 
of  buried  treasure.  Do  I  believe  the  story?  Well, 
no,  not  exactly.  But,  still,  there's  generally  some 
truth  under  such  tales." 

Here  another  lounger  broke  in  with  his  story 
that  old  Isaac  Neisner  did  not  own  the  house,  but 
was  merely  in  charge  for  some  stranger  to  whom  it 
had  been  left,  but  this  theory  seemed  to  receive 
only  a  small  share  of  popular  favour. 

However,  Gilbert  listened  to  them  all  impartially. 
Then  came  a  wire  from  Mrs.  Broderick  with  direc- 
tions to  take  the  house,  and  saying  that  she  was 
sending  down  some  furniture.  With  that,  Gilbert 
removed  himself  to  Neisner's,  sharing  the  old  man's 
rough  fare,  setting  a  handy  man  he  had  brought 
down,  to  work  at  carpentering,  tinting  walls,  stain- 
ing floors. 

Often  he  joined  in  the  work  himself,  and  old 
Isaac,  catching  the  contagion,  turned  to  and  proved 
not  unskilful  in  household  art. 

44 


"IN    HER    SERVICE" 

There  were  some  odds  and  ends  of  good  old  furni- 
ture about  the  rooms,  and  these  were  rubbed  up, 
and  brought  into  greater  prominence. 

"  This  sideboard  must  have  once  belonged  to 
well-to-do  folks,"  Gilbert  said,  one  day,  as  they  set 
up  the  rickety  structure  of  pure  Chippendale  lines 
in  the  central  living-room. 

"  Hum !  Perhaps  it  did.  Never  took  much 
notice  of  furniture  myself.  Beds  is  beds,  and  chairs 
is  chairs,  and  we've  got  to  have  them  both.  That's 
all  I  know,"  the  old  man  grunted. 

Another  time  Gilbert  unearthed  from  a  rubbish 
corner,  a  hanging-lamp,  which  when  rubbed  up, 
proved  to  be  of  elaborately  embossed  copper. 

A  knowledge  of  bric-a-brac  acquired  in  the  studios 
of  his  friends,  told  him  that  this  lamp  must  have 
once  hung  in  some  Spanish  or  Italian  church. 

When  he  appealed  for  Isaac's  leave  to  hang  it  in 
the  centre  room,  the  latter  scowled  at  it  doubtfully. 

"  You've  got  a  great  eye  for  rubbish,  mister.  Do 
what  you  like  with  it,  it's  all  one  to  me.  /  don't 
know  where  the  thing  came  from.  It's  been  round 
the  house  ever  since  I've  known  it.  Bought  from 
some  Spanish  sailor  most  likely,  or  perhaps  the 
missus—  Here  he  checked  himself  abruptly, 
going  on,  "  Yes,  I've  seen  the  like  hanging  up  in 
Catholic  churches,  with  the  little  red  light  shining 
in  them,  and  big  sailor  men  down  on  their  knees 
before  them.  Perhaps,  though,"  he  rambled  on,  "  it 
made  the  last  taste  of  the  salt  water  less  bitter  to 
them  as  they  went  down.  Oh,  I've  seen  a  good  many 
go  down  in  my  time,  some  with  religion  and  some 
without.  Have  you  got  any  religion,  young  man?  " 
lie  ended,  with  one  of  his  sudden  turns  on  Gilbert. 

45 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  I  have  the  religion  of  trying  to  do  my  share 
toward  leaving  the  world  better  than  I  found  it," 
the  latter  answered. 

"  Ah,  well,  you  might  have  a  worse  one  than 
that,"  he  went  off  muttering,  and  Gilbert  began  to 
feel  sure  that  this  conversational  rambling  was  a 
trick  of  the  old  man's  when  he  wished  to  head 
off  the  conversation  in  a  different  direction.  But 
the  May  days  were  growing  more  balmy,  and  the 
furniture  having  arrived  from  Boston,  the  old  farm- 
house was  looking  a  more  possible  habitation  for 
a  fashionable  woman. 

Gilbert  felt  that  he  might  now  go  back  to  Boston 
to  arrange  for  the  Brodericks'  journey. 

It  had  been  inevitable  that  of  late  he  had  dwelt 
much  in  thought  on  Mrs.  Broderick's  preferences 
and  comfort.  He  had  put  his  whole  heart  into 
making  the  old  place  as  artistically  dainty  for  her 
as  possible ;  reading  and  re-reading  the  brief  letters 
in  which  she  had  expressed  her  few  wishes. 

Now,  there  was  an  unconscious  quickening  of 
Interest  in  the  thought  of  telling  her  of  his  labours, 
of  receiving  her  approval.  Surely  she  must  see 
how  heartily  he  had  striven  to  do  everything  possible 
for  her  comfort.  These  thoughts  were  his  compan- 
ions on  the  short  sea  voyage,  and  sent  him  without 
delay  to  the  Brodericks'  handsome  house. 

Once  again  he  stood  waiting  in  the  reposeful 
drawing-room,  but  this  time,  instead  of  the  flicker 
of  firelight,  there  was  the  level  western  sunshine 
resting  on  violets  and  lilies  of  the  valley. 

There  was  a  rustle  of  silk,  and  Mrs.  Broderick 
had  glided  in  and  greeted  him  with  her  usual 
finished  grace.  Was  it  her  elaborate  street  dress 

46 


"IN    HER    SERVICE" 

of  pale  blue,  trimmed  with  black,  that  made  her 
seem  more  the  woman  of  society  than  she  had  in 
that  soft  gray  gown  by  the  fireside,  or  was  there 
really  a  hardness  behind  her  smile  that  chilled  any 
manifestation  of  sympathy? 

However  it  came,  the  effect  was  there,  and  caused 
Gilbert  to  feel  as  though  those  soft  white  hands 
had  gently  pushed  him  into  a  remote  outer  circle. 
Smarting  with  an  uncomprehended  pain,  he  strove 
after  the  feeling  of  ten  minutes  earlier. 

"  You  look  better."  he  began.  "  I  trust  things 
have  improved  during  my  absence?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  better.  I  suppose  I  have  got  my 
second  wind  of  courage,"  she  smiled,  as  they  seated 
themselves.  "  Then  there  is  the  comfort  of  trying 
to  do  something  definite.  And  I  have  remembered 
what  you  said  about  work  being  the  best  sign.  He 
has,  of  late,  been  more  absorbed  in  it  than  ever. 
I  have  been  looking  forward  to  your  coming  in 
the  hopes  that  you  might  detect  some  improvement. 
I  somehow  feel  that  you  understand  him  better  than 
Doctor  Smart  does." 

It  was  surely  unreasonable  in  Gilbert  to  feel  hurt 
at  being  thought  of  in  his  professional  capacity,  and 
to  fancy  that  Mrs.  Broderick  wished  to  remind  him 
of  the  work  that  he  had  undertaken  for  her.  The 
only  sign,  however,  that  he  gave  of  the  feeling  was 
in  a  touch  of  professional  mannerism,  as  he  an- 
swered, sedately : 

"  I  can  hardly  hope  to  compete  with  Doctor 
Smart's  experience  yet  awhile.  But  I  am  sure  you 
know  that  the  case  has  my  deepest  interest,  and 
that  I  shall  spare  no  effort  this  summer." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  quickly,  with 

47 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

a  little  puzzled  glance  at  him,  as  though  questioning 
the  subtle  change. 

"  But  I  want  to  tell  you  about  his  work.  He 
has  actually  begun  a  large  new  picture,  the  best, 
so  far  as  I  can  yet  tell,  of  his  life.  About  the  time 
you  left,  he  was  always  doing  studies  of  flowers  and 
butterflies,  though  I  had  not  understood  what  was 
his  idea  until  he  put  it  into  shape  on  a  large  canvas. 
Then  I  remembered  — 

She  paused,  as  though  feeling  the  pathos  of  what 
she  had  to  tell. 

"  Have  you  ever  read  of  poor  Guy  de  Maupas- 
sant's last  sad  days  of  insanity?"  Gilbert  silently 
shook  his  head.  He  was  again  under  the  spell  of 
eyes  and  voice,  of  personality. 

"  Well,  he  was  surrounded  in  his  visions  by  flights 
of  butterflies.  The  white  ones  were  the  souls  of 
friends,  good  spirits,  and  made  him  seraphic.  Trie 
blue  and  yellow  were  women  he  had  loved,  and  the 
pleasures  he  had  known;  but  on  his  gloomy  days 
black  butterflies  came,  and  from  these  he  cowered 
and  hid,  and  called  them  Death  and  Pain.  I  knew 
his  mother,"  she  went  on,  "  a  grim,  old  Norman 
country  dame,  and  she  told  me  of  the  story. 
Whether  I  ever  spoke  of  it  to  my  husband  or 
whether  he  heard  it  from  others  in  Paris,  I  cannot 
tell  now.  He  has  never  mentioned  it,  or  breathed 
a  word  to  show  what  he  is  thinking  of,  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  is  the  idea  he  is  working 
out  in  this  picture.  And,  oh,  it  is  so  beautiful!" 
she  broke  off,  with  sudden  fervour. 

A  remembrance  came  to  Gilbert  of  times  when 
he  had  wondered  if  Isabel  Steele  had  any  personality 
beside  the  art  spirit  that  inhabited  her  frame,  and 

48 


"IN    HER    SERVICE" 

now  again  he  wondered  which  side  of  her  nature 

life  had  the  most  largely  developed,  the  feminine 

or  the  artistic. 

"  I   would   like  you   to   come  to   my   husband's 

studio,  and  see  him  at  his  work,"  Mrs.  Broderick 

said,  rising. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  are  sure  it  won't  startle  him." 
"  Oh,  no,  he  never  notices  any  one  when  he  is 

busy,"  and  she  led  the  way  through  the  house  to 

the  studio. 


49 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    FLOWERS    OF    DEATH 

GILBERT  was  familiar,  through  the  free- 
masonry of  young  men,  with  several  studios, 
but  he  could  not  refrain  from  an  admiring 
glance  at  the  noble  proportions  and  stately  sim- 
plicity of  this  one  he  now  entered.  There  were 
indeed  two  studios,  separated  from  each  other  by 
a  great  sweep  of  subtle-tinted  Indian  curtain. 

After  that  one  glance  around,  all  his  attention  was 
fixed  on  the  man  who  stood  at  a  big  easel. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  seen  Andrew 
Broderick,  but  his  renewed  impression  was  of  the 
attractiveness  of  his  appearance.  Young  and  tall 
and  slim,  wearing  a  picturesque  brown  velveteen 
painting-coat,  he  was  a  pleasing  figure  as  he  stood 
palette  in  hand,  staring  intently  at  his  picture,  with- 
out taking  any  notice  of  their  entrance. 

His  hair,  of  a  light  blond,  was  very  fine  in  texture, 
and  worn  somewhat  longer  than  usual.  The  face 
was  of  a  long  oval,  and  had  the  pallor  that  some- 
times goes  with  very  fine  hair.  His  eyes  were  of 
a  prominent  blue.  No  untrained  observation  would 
ever  have  associated  this  quiet-mannered,  hard- 
working young  gentleman  with  any  idea  of  insanity, 

50 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   DEATH 

and  yet  to  Gilbert's  eyes  the  signs  of  mental  degen- 
eration were  clear  as  written  words.  He  stood 
in  silence,  absorbed  in  this  dread  fact,  for  a  moment, 
before  turning  toward  Mrs.  Broderick ;  he  saw  that 
her  eyes,  and  apparently  her  thoughts,  were  intent 
on  the  big  canvas  on  the  easel. 

His  gaze  followed  the  direction  of  hers,  and  he 
suppressed  a  word  of  admiration  at  what  he  saw. 
Gilbert  knew  as  much  about  art  as  do  most  intelli- 
gent young  men  nowadays,  who  live  in  cities  at 
young  men's  clubs,  among  authors,  artists,  journal- 
ists, where  such  topics  are  in  the  air.  He  knew 
enough  to  realise  that  here  before  him  was  one 
of  the  masterpieces  of  American  art. 

Andrew  Broderick  must  have  worked  hard  during 
the  past  weeks,  for  the  canvas  was  completely 
covered,  and  even  in  parts  seemed  nearly  finished. 

The  picture  was  longer  than  it  was  high,  and 
in  one  upper  end  of  it,  a  rising  slope  caught  the 
evening  twilight. 

On  this  slope,  stately  white  lilies  grew,  and  over 
them,  one  white  butterfly  hovered  against  a  radiant 
opening  in  soft-tinted  clouds.  Lower  down,  half- 
way up  this  slope,  masses  of  rich  flowers,  pink  and 
cream  roses  and  carnations,  were  fluttered  over  by 
blue  and  yellow  and  orange  butterflies.  The  fore- 
ground lay  in  blue-gray  shadow  at  the  foot  of  the 
slope.  Here  were  ranks  of  dark  red  poppies,  in 
their  gray-green  leaves,  while  against  them  showed 
out  one  large  purple-black  butterfly. 

The  poppies  and  the  black  butterfly  alone  of  all 
the  picture  had  been  worked  up  into  the  most  accu- 
rate finish. 

But  even  while  Gilbert  was  admiring  the  work. 

51 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

he  did  not  fail  to  mark  a  sudden  restlessness  in  the 
artist. 

Whether  he  had  only  just  become  aware  of  their 
presence  or  not,  he  was  evidently  uneasy  at  their 
inspection  of  his  picture.  He  cast  furtive  glances 
from  them  to  his  easel,  thrust  his  hair  back  from  his 
forehead  with  a  troubled  gesture,  and  then  dabbled 
his  colours  together  on  his  palette  in  confusion. 

Marking  these  signs,  Gilbert  turned  away  to  look 
casually  around  the  room. 

His  gaze  lighted  on  great  boxes  of  growing 
poppies  ranged  in  one  corner  under  the  shade  of 
a  bit  of  stretched  blue-green  muslin. 

"  What  wonderful  poppies  to  have  been  forced 
indoors  at  this  time  of  year,"  he  said,  in  even  tones. 

Mrs.  Broderick  looked  apprehensively  from  one 
man  to  the  other,  but  her  face  cleared  as  her  husband 
answered  at  once,  though  with  a  certain  vagueness : 

"  They  are  always  wonderful ;  the  most  wonder- 
ful of  all  flowers ;  the  flowers  of  sleep  and  death." 

Then  having  spoken,  he  filled  his  brush  anew, 
and  became  re-absorbed  in  his  work. 

Gilbert  made  no  further  effort  to  attract  his  at- 
tention. With  a  sign  to  Mrs.  Broderick,  he  with- 
drew, she  following  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
they  paused  in  a  half  conservatory,  half  passage  that 
connected  the  house  with  the  studio. 

"  He  may  be  a  trifle  better  in  health  than  when 
I  saw  him  before,"  he  admitted ;  then  with  more 
earnestness : 

"  I  saw  another  easel  with  a  flower  study  at  the 
other  end  of  the  studio.  Was  it  yours  or  his?" 

"  Mine.  We  have  always  worked  in  the  same 
52 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   DEATH 

studio,"  she  answered,  as  though  anticipating  an 
objection. 

It  came. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  Gilbert  said,  gravely. 

"  Why  not?  His  man  is  generally  in  the  next 
room  or  somewhere  near.  It  worries  him  to  have 
him  in  sight,  and  we  cannot  leave  him  always  alone. 
Besides,  as  I  say,  it  has  always  been  our  habit,  and 
it  used  to  please  him  to  have  me  come  to  work. 
He  sometimes  thought  that  I  was  neglecting  my 
painting  for  society  or  for  the  child." 

"  But  does  it  seem  to  please  him  now?  "  Gilbert 
persisted. 

He  was  smitten  with  swift  compunction  as  he 
saw  a  mist  of  tears  dim  her  eyes,  with  her  answer : 

"  No,  he  does  not  often  notice  me." 

He  held  firm  to  his  purpose,  however. 

"  Promise  me  to  give  it  up,"  he  urged.  "  It  is 
a  needless  strain  on  your  nerves,  and  can  do  him 
no  good.  He  would  very  soon  get  used  to  the 
man." 

A  quick  sob  broke  from  Mrs.  Broderick. 

"Life  seems  to  have  resolved  itself  into  giving 
up,  now !  Doesn't  it  seem  cruel  that  such  genius 
as  that  should  go  to  waste?  "  she  appealed  to  him, 
passionately. 

Unconsciously,  Gilbert  felt  a  certain  exultation  to 
notice  that  it  was  for  the  artist  she  seemed  to  be 
mourning,  more  than  for  the  man.  It  gave  him 
a  new  sense  of  power  to  comfort  and  support  her. 

"  It  has  not  gone  to  waste  yet.  He  could  never 
have  done  better  work  than  this,"  he  said,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here,"  he  went  on,  pointing 
53 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

to  a  big  divan  in  a  palm-shaded  recess.  "  I  have 
had  no  chance  yet  to  tell  you  about  '  The  Moorings,' 
and  my  work  there.  I  am  thinking  of  qualifying  for 
a  house  decorator." 

"  You  have  been  very  good  in  taking  so  much 
trouble,"  she  said,  he  thought  without  much  real 
interest. 

He  persisted,  however,  in  his  effort  to  divert  her 
thoughts. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  in  my  letter  that  our  residence 
is  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  an  old  pirate,  other- 
wise a  worthy  sea-captain,  who  made  a  large  for- 
tune, and  died  in  all  the  odour  of  respectability.  Why 
he  was  called  a  pirate,  and  why  he  should  be  sup- 
posed to  visit  the  home  of  his  earlier  days  were 
matters  of  local  tradition  that  I  never  could  master. 
But  it  seems  certain  that  it  would  be  hard  to  get 
servants  there,  and  that  we  must  take  them  with 
us." 

"  Oh,  I  would  rather  do  that  in  any  case,"  she 
said,  hastily ;  then,  with  a  little  shudder :  "  It  sounds 
rather  dreary.  I  hope  it  won't  have  a  depressing 
effect." 

"  That  is  only  owing  to  my  clumsiness  in  putting 
the  worst  side  first.  The  place  has  a  wonderfully 
homelike  charm,  tucked  into  its  green  fields,  where 
they  slope  down  to  the  water.  I  am  sure  that  no 
artist  could  look  at  the  path  twisting  between  the 
old  apple-trees,  or  the  tumble-down,  gray  wooden 
wharf,  without  their  fingers  itching  to  paint  them." 

"  It  does  sound  nice,"  she  acknowledged. 

"  But  I  haven't  told  you  the  queerest  part  of  the 
story,  which  really  has  a  '  shilling  shocker '  sugges- 

54 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   DEATH 

tion,"  and  he  went  on  to  tell  her  of  his  mother's 
letter,  and  of  Isaac  Neisner's  mysteries. 

"  It  seems  absurd  to  invent  a  romance  out  of 
such  materials,  and  yet,  it  is  strange,  isn't  it?"  he 
appealed  to  her. 

"  It  is  indeed,"  she  agreed,  thoughtfully.  "  I 
think  that  we  could  do  with  a  little  less  romance  at 
present.  Romance  and  happiness  are  seldom  synony- 
mous terms." 

Gilbert  saw  that  she  was  not  to  be  aroused  from 
her  depression,  but  as  he  was  about  to  leave  her, 
a  child's  voice  was  heard,  and  new  light  shone  in 
her  face. 

Her  very  figure  lost  its  languid  droop  in  alertness, 
as  the  sturdy,  daintily  clad  figure  of  a  boy  of  about 
four  appeared,  followed  by  a  tall  Swedish  nurse. 

The  first  thing  Gilbert  noticed  was  the  child's 
strong  likeness  to  his  mother. 

"  Mummie's  here;  was  Boyso  looking  for  her?  " 
she  said,  in  a  voice  like  music. 

The  child  ran  toward  her  outstretched  hands, 
but  babbled: 

"  Boyso  wants  to  go  to  daddy ;  Boyso  wants  to 
see  daddy  paint." 

"  No,  poor  daddy's  tired ;  daddy  wants  to  go  to 
sleep,"  the  mother  said,  with  all  the  gladness  gone 
out  of  her  voice. 

"  See,  here  is  the  gentleman  who  is  coming  with 
daddy  and  mummie  and  Boyso  in  a  big  steamer, 
to  a  pretty  place  where  Boyso  will  fish  and  learn  to 
swim.  Ask  the  gentleman  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Boyso  toddled  over  and  stood  by  Gilbert's  knee, 
passing  him  under  that  crucial  test  of  childish  in- 
spection. 

55 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"Are  there  apples  there?"  he  asked,  cautiously. 

"  Yes,  plenty  of  apples,"  was  the  rash  answer, 
considering  the  season. 

"  And  lobsters  with  big  red  claws?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  There  is  an  old  man  there  who  goes 
out  in  a  boat  and  catches  the  big  father  lobsters, 
and  they  are  green,  until  they  are  put  in  the  pot,  and 
then  they  come  out  red." 

"  I  don't  like  green  lobsters,"  the  boy  objected. 
"  Still,  if  they  turn  red,  s'pose  they'll  do.  And 
may  I  go  out  to  catch  them  ?  "  condescending  to 
eagerness. 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  I  must  go  now,"  and  with  a 
brief  farewell,  he  left  the  child  and  mother  together. 

The  May  weather  was  fine,  and  their  plans  were 
pressed  forward. 

It  was  decided  that  Andrew  Broderick  must  not 
miss  his  work,  and  the  most  arduous  task  of  the 
whole  affair  was  getting  the  big  canvas  away  from 
him  to  be  packed,  without  making  him  too  unhappy 
in  the  process. 

Here  his  wife's  intimate  knowledge  of  his  process 
of  thought  came  in.  She  began  a  smaller  study  of 
the  poppy  foreground,  into  which  she  put  a  shadowy 
figure,  raising  one  hand  toward  the  veil  that  hid 
its  face. 

This  figure  was  merely  suggested  by  some  rough 
brush-work,  and  seeing  the  canvas  standing  there 
Broderick  began  to  work  on  it,  becoming  so  ab- 
sorbed that  he  forgot  to  make  any  inquiries  after 
his  own  picture. 

"  It  will  be  all  ready  waiting  in  his  barn  studio 
down  there,  and  will,  I  hope,  settle  him  down  at 
once,"  Gilbert  said. 

56 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   DEATH 

This  matter  settled,  there  came  the  crisis  of  get- 
ting him  away  from  home  without  too  much  distress 
to  him. 

He  was  not  too  troublesome,  but  cowered  and 
shrank  pitifully  into  himself,  like  a  child  awed  by 
strange  surroundings. 

Gilbert  noted  that  seeing  him  thus  helpless  and 
forlorn  went  farther  to  convince  his  wife  of  Bro- 
derick's  real  condition  than  any  doctor's  dicta  could 
have  done. 

He  saw  also  that  it  aroused  in  her  that  passion 
of  pity  which  strong  women  feel  for  those  more 
helpless  than  themselves. 

In  these  days  Gilbert  was  driven  to  acknowledge 
that  no  one  was  so  quick  to  divine  what  would 
soothe  Broderick's  restlessness  as  his  wife;  no  one 
so  skilful  at  bringing  that  power  to  bear  upon  him. 

Their  party  was  not  small,  for  Gilbert  had  thought 
it  best  to  keep  the  servants  with  them.  These  were 
not  numerous,  but  were  picked  in  quality. 

There  was  a  French  man-cook,  of  Norman  stal- 
wartness  and  good  humour,  who  in  a  large  house- 
hold was  always  creating  confusion  by  wanting  to 
turn  his  hand  to  every  task  that  lay  outside  of  his 
department.  The  boy's  nurse  was  a  strong,  faithful 
Swedish  woman,  delighted  to  be  going  to  a  Northern 
seashore,  and  Mr.  Broderick's  attendant  had  been 
trained  as  a  house-servant,  and  would  do  the  wait- 
ing. 

The  farmhouse  had  no  room  for  more,  and  Gil- 
bert saw  that  Mrs.  Broderick  recognised  the  fact 
that,  provided  they  had  enough  strong  men,  the 
fewer  people  there  were  about  the  better. 

There  had  come  a  haggard,  hunted  look  to  Isabel's 

57 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

face  by  the  foggy  afternoon  that  they  had  reached 
the  Moorings.  Gilbert,  watching  her,  anathematised 
the  weather  that  could  not  produce  one  gleam  of  sun- 
shine to  cheer  her  heart.  But  perhaps  the  calm  of 
the  luminous  gray  was  more  really  soothing  to  her 
wearied  spirit. 

Before  the  long  spring  twilight  had  darkened, 
there  had  come  a  home  aspect  over  the  new  house- 
hold. 

Broderick  had  been  soothed  into  content  at  finding 
his  big  poppy  picture  standing  on  its  own  easel  in 
the  part  of  an  old  barn  which  Gilbert  had  converted 
into  a  studio.  His  paint-box  stood  open,  his  brushes 
and  palette  ready  to  his  hand,  but  for  the  present, 
it  seemed  to  content  him  to  sit  in  an  armchair  oppo- 
site it,  smoking  one  cigarette  after  another,  the  nerv- 
ous shrinking  fading  from  face  and  manner. 

Isabel  sat  in  a  deep  hammock-chair,  on  the  ve- 
randa that  had  been  one  of  Gilbert's  improve- 
ments. 

She  was  evidently  utterly  weary,  but  the  terrible 
strain  of  the  last  few  days  seemed  to  be  already 
losing  its  hold.  The  boy  had  lost  no  time  in  gather- 
ing a  handful  of  treasures  of  stones  and  shells,  chief 
of  these  being  a  great  red  lobster-claw,  the  sight 
of  which  had  filled  him  with  rapture. 

"  Red  lobsters  here,  not  green,"  he  had  announced, 
triumphantly. 

He  was  playing  with  it  now,  close  to  his  mother's 
feet,  while  the  nurse  was  arranging  the  room  inside. 
The  mother  yearning  softened  Isabel's  eyes,  as  she 
watched  his  play  and  listened  to  his  babble. 

But  the  day  had  been  a  long  one,  and  presently, 

58 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   DEATH 

dropping  his  treasures,  the  child  climbed  upon  his 
mother's  knee,  and  nestled  to  her  sleepily. 

With  a  hungry  gesture  she  gathered  him  into 
her  arms,  and  presently  rose  and  carried  him  in- 
doors, the  fine  proportions  of  her  figure  showing 
out  in  the  effort. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE     MOORINGS 

GILBERT,  smoking  his  pipe,  had  watched  the 
group  from  a  distance,  his  heart  thrilled  by 
the  familiar  home  aspect  in  which  he  was 
standing  to  them.  The  fog  rolled  in  more  thickly, 
deepening  the  evening  shadows,  and  he  strolled  over 
toward  the  barn,  which  had  been  divided  between 
Broderick's  studio  and  a  den  for  himself,  where  he 
could  read  and  write  undisturbed,  and  yet  be  within 
hearing  of  what  happened. 

This  den  he  had  on  his  first  visit  made  homelike 
with  armchair,  writing-table,  and  his  few  little 
belongings,  and  he  now  turned  toward  it  with  the 
relief  of  getting  on  his  own  ground. 

He  was  anxious  to  let  Mrs.  Broderick  see  that 
he  did  not  intend  to  intrude  upon  her  in  any  way. 
As  he  crossed  the  grassy  space  that  corresponded 
with  a  farmyard,  he  saw  old  Isaac  fondly  contem- 
plating his  pigs,  and  hailed  him: 

"  Why,  Isaac,  I've  had  hardly  a  word  with  you 
yet.  Come  over  and  smoke  a  pipe  with  me." 

The  wrinkled  face  was  stretched  into  a  smile,  as 
the  old  man  hobbled  toward  him. 

"  Well,  and  I  was  saying  to  myself  that  you  had 
60 


THE    MOORINGS 

your  hands  full,  but  that  we'd  have  our  talk  all 
in  good  time,"  he  announced. 

This  den  of  Gilbert's  was  a  cosy  enough  place 
when  his  reading-lamp  was  lit,  showing  the  bright 
colours  of  the  posters  which  he  had  pinned  up  upon 
the  rough  wooden  walls,  and  the  archaic  patterns 
of  the  home-manufactured  rugs,  purchased  from  an 
old  woman  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"  And  it's  yourself  is  a  handy  man  to  have  turned 
the  old  barn  into  this,"  Isaac  said,  with  an  approving 
glance  around ;  then  lowering  his  voice,  "  Is  he 
in  there?"  he  asked,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb 
toward  the  partition. 

"  No,  he  seemed  tired,  and  Higgins  got  him  off 
to  bed.  Well,  this  getting  here  is  a  good  job  over, 
Isaac,"  he  added,  somewhat  wearily. 

"  Indeed,  you  may  say  so,  sir.  Many  a  time 
I've  been  wondering  how  you'd  get  along.  Those 
mad  folk  are  kittle  cattle." 

"  Please  don't  call  him  mad,  Isaac ;  at  least  to 
the  servants  and  Mrs.  Broderick.  It  would  hurt  her 
to  hear  it." 

"  Indeed  I  wouldn't,  poor  lady.  And  what  a 
beauty  she  is!  I  feel  as  though  I'd  never  muster 
courage  to  speak  to  her  like  to  other  folks.  Well, 
he  had  more  than  us  common  run  to  lose,  anyway." 

As  Isaac  talked  between  the  puffs  of  his  pipe,  his 
eyes  wandered  slowly  round  the  room,  and  presently 
he  got  up  and  strolled  over  to  where  Gilbert  had 
pinned  up  on  the  wall  an  old-fashioned  photograph 
of  his  father  and  mother,  taken  together.  It  had 
been  with  the  idea  of  an  experiment  on  Isaac  that 
he  had  hunted  out  the  half-forgotten  picture. 

"  Humph !   Got  your  parents  up  here  —  "  he  be- 

61 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

gan;  then  after  a  pause,  going  on  in  a  more 
absent  fashion,  "  Fine-looking  woman  your  mother 
—  at  least,  must  have  been,"  he  corrected  himself. 
"  Say  would  be  about  sixty-eight  now?  " 

Gilbert  had  risen,  in  the  uneasiness  which  this 
phase  in  Isaac  always  produced. 

"  That  is  her  exact  age.  How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 
he  said,  emphatically. 

As  he  expected,  Isaac  evaded  him. 

"  Oh,  well,  she  looks  about  that." 

"  But  it  is  more  than  ten  years  since  that  was 
taken.  Isaac,  why  won't  you  say  out  what  you 
know  about  my  father  and  mother?  " 

The  two  men  stood  facing  each  other,  the  old 
one  obstinately  imperturbable,  the  younger  vexed 
to  see  that  his  appeal  had  been  in  vain. 

"  What  makes  you  think  as  I  know  anything 
about  them  ?  "  was  the  dogged  question. 

"  How  can  I  help  seeing  that  there's  something  in 
your  mind  and  ready  to  come  out  twenty  times  a 
day?"  Gilbert  protested. 

"  But  it  won't ;  not  until  I  choose.  Wait  a  bit, 
there's  no  hurry.  At  any  rate,  I  know  no  harm 
about  them,  and  I  mean  no  harm  to  you.  That's 
something,  isn't  it?"  and  he  laid  his  great  paw 
on  Gilbert's  shoulder. 

Still  vexed,  Gilbert  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  There's  no  doubt  that  you  are  a  very  aggravat- 
ing old  man,"  he  said.  "  Still  I  suppose  that  I'll 
have  to  put  up  with  you.  What  is  it,  Higgins?" 
for  the  attendant  had  presented  himself  at  the  door 
to  make  his  nightly  report. 

The  next  day  was  cheered  by  sunshine,  and  all 
Gilbert's  little  colony  seemed  peacefully  inclined. 

62 


THE    MOORINGS 

The  servants  worked  busily  at  unpacking;  Bro 
derick  had  absorbed  himself  in  his  picture,  introduc- 
ing the  veiled  figure  into  his  larger  canvas ;  Isabel  sat 
on  the  veranda,  stitching  away  at  a  strip  of  em- 
broidery, in  which  Gilbert  noticed  she  had  a  trick 
of  becoming  absorbed,  and,  at  the  same  time,  keeping 
an  eye  upon  Boyso,  who  displayed  great  energy  in 
fluttering  here  and  there,  always  attaching  himself 
to  Isaac  whenever  that  worthy  was  in  sight. 

The  old  man  had  won  his  heart  that  first  morn- 
ing, by  appearing  with  an  offering  of  lobsters; 
wicked-looking  green  ones,  still  dripping  from  the 
water,  and  snapping  their  claws  and  waving  their 
long  feelers  in  a  delightfully  terrifying  fashion, 
that  took  all  charm  from  the  lifeless  red  ones  of 
the  Boston  shops. 

"  Mr.  Lobsterman,"  Isaac  was  at  once  christened, 
and  seemed  rather  proud  of  the  title. 

They  were  a  strange  experience  to  Gilbert,  those 
first  meals  presided  over  by  Isabel  Broderick,  with 
her  fixed  serenity  of  manner,  her  calm  which  he 
felt  that  nothing  earthly  could  break. 

For  household  convenience  Boyso  had  been  pro- 
moted to  table,  and  sat  beside  his  mother,  in  a  high 
chair,  his  prattle  a  relief  to  every  one.  When  Bro- 
derick did  speak,  it  was  in  answer  to  questions  of  his 
boy's,  some  of  which  Gilbert  would  have  been  glad 
to  check. 

"  Daddy,"  he  demanded,  "  when  you  want  to 
paint  the  angels,  do  you  call  them  to  come?" 

The  prominent  light  eyes  lost  their  vagueness  as 
Broderick  answered. 

"  Yes,  I  call  them,  and  they  come." 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  But  the  bad  black  angels?  "  the  child  persisted, 
in  an  awed  voice. 

"  Alas,  they  come  without  calling,"  and  the  pallid 
face  grew  wilder  and  more  troubled. 

"  Isaac  caught  such  a  big  lobster  this  morning, 
and  he's  not  going  to  take  it  to  the  factory  until 
Boyso  sees  it,"  Gilbert  put  in,  and  at  the  news 
Boyso  was  anxious  to  be  off,  and  the  crisis  was  past. 

Gilbert  saw  that  the  mother  had  paled,  and  when 
presently  they  stood  on  the  veranda  watching  Bro- 
derick  hastening  back  to  his  studio,  followed  by  his 
attendant,  Gilbert  said,  gravely: 

"  If  he  should  at  any  time  seem  disinclined  to 
come  to  table  with  us,  I  should  not  urge  him." 

"  You  apparently  believe  in  the  policy  of  isola- 
tion," she  said,  bitterly. 

Gilbert  was  pleased  to  see  that  she  confided 
enough  in  him  not  to  care  to  conceal  the  jangling 
of  her  nerves. 

"  I  wish  to  avoid  any  unnecessary  risk  of  excite- 
ment," was  his  soothing  answer. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered,  more  gently. 

"  But  tell  me,  you  do  think  that  we  have  got 
through  the  journey  better  than  you  expected,  that 
being  here  is  good  for  him  ?  " 

Gilbert  had  served  his  apprenticeship  to  those 
painful  questions  which  doctors  must  face,  so  he 
responded,  readily: 

"  I  think  that,  so  far,  everything  has  gone  wonder- 
fully well.  But  I  want  you  to  remember  that  your 
health  and  your  nerves  are  an  important  part  of 
the  whole  affair,  and  that  you  must  have  change 
and  outdoor  life.  Your  husband  is  safe  in  the 
studio  with  Higgins;  will  you  bring  the  boy  and 

64 


THE    MOORINGS 

come  up  the  river  in  the  sailboat  with  me?  There 
is  one  of  those  ideal  westerly  winds  which  seem  to 
be  a  summer  feature  of  this  shore." 

They  went,  and  the  spell  of  the  sweet  Northern 
spring  laid  its  touch  on  Isabel's  sore  spirit.  The 
west  wind  was  warm  and  languorous  with  wood 
smoke,  through  which,  every  now  and  then,  pene- 
trated the  crisper  breath  of  the  sea. 

The  child  babbled  happily  at  her  feet,  and  Gilbert 
left  her  untroubled  by  conversation.  It  was  pleasure 
enough  to  him  to  see  how  the  society-woman  phase 
had  been  laid  aside  and  replaced  by  a  girlish  sim- 
plicity. 

She  looked  so  delightfully  young  with  her  hair 
blown  about  under  her  sailor  hat,  with  her  bare 
hands  already  browning  in  the  sun. 

Pleasure  enough  to  hear  her  laugh  ring  out 
naturally,  at  Boyso's  scheme  of  converting  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat  into  an  aquarium. 

"  Boyso  will  turn  into  a  water-baby,  and  then 
we'll  keep  him  in  a  pool  with  the  crabs  and  the 
lobsters,"  she  said,  gaily. 

"  But  Boyso  would  have  to  come  back  to  his 
own  bed,  and  to  mummie  in  the  dark  night?  " 

"  Yes,  Boyso  shall  always  stay  with  mummie  in 
the  dark  night,"  and  she  drew  the  child  closer  to 
her. 

"  There,  you  look  a  different  person  for  that. 
You  must  come  out  often,"  Gilbert  said,  as  they 
landed. 

But  as  they  walked  up  the  path,  he  saw  the 
shadow  of  her  self-repression  gliding  over  her  face. 
It  is  an  awful  thing  to  return  to  a  house  that  sends 
its  shadows  out  to  meet  us. 

65 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

After  this,  it  was  Isaac  who  gave  them  their  first 
excitement,  by  going  out  to  set  his  nets  one  evening, 
and  managing  to  get  run  clown  by  a  fishing-schooner. 
"  One  of  them  low  Yankee  things  from  Gloucester," 
as  he  put  it. 

His  boat  was  upset,  and  he  was  floating  about  a 
bit  before  he  managed  to  right  her,  and  came  home 
very  wet  and  shaky.  Gilbert  happened  to  see  him 
land,  and  got  him  quickly  to  bed,  with  a  stiff  glass 
of  grog,  and  a  wood  fire  on  the  open  hearth  of  his 
little  lean-to. 

All  the  next  day  the  old  man  seemed  dull  and 
chilly,  and  sat  by  the  fire  in  his  room,  but  in  the 
evening  when  Gilbert  went  to  smoke  his  pipe  with 
him,  he  appeared  restless  and  talkative. 

"  I  thought  it  was  all  over,  when  I  couldn't  find 
that  boat  last  night,"  he  began,  "  and  it  did  seem 
cheap  work  for  old  Isaac  Neisner,  who'd  been  half 
over  the  world,  to  be  done  for  by  a  Yankee  fishing- 
craft  in  the  La  Have  —  in  his  own  La  Have,  sir. 
Tell  you  what,  it  wouldn't  sound  well  on  a  tomb- 
stone. I'd  be  ashamed  for  the  old  man  to  come 
back  and  read  it.  There  were  other  things  came 
into  my  head  then,"  he  rambled  on,  while  Gilbert 
had  the  old  feeling  that  this  rambling  covered  some 
purpose. 

"  One  of  them,  and  that  was  the  worst  one,  sir, 
was  that  if  I  had  went  down  then,  I  would  have 
been  cheating  and  robbing  you.  B'lieve  it  was 
that  made  me  find  the  boat  in  the  dark,"  he  chuckled 
to  himself. 

Gilbert  was  thoroughly  aroused  now. 

"  Isaac,  you  must  tell  me  what  such  things  mean," 
he  said,  sternly. 

66 


THE    MOORINGS 

But  Isaac,  apparently  requiring  no  further  urg- 
ing, went  on : 

"  Your  mother  may  refuse  what  she  likes  for 
herself  —  that's  her  own  affair.  But  you  are  a 
man  now,  and  women,  poor  souls,  aren't  fit  to  do 
the  deciding  for  men." 

But  Gilbert's  patience  had  reached  its  limits. 

"  Good  heavens,  man,  can't  you  say  what  you 
mean  ?  Have  I  got  another  lunatic  on  my  hands  ?  " 

His  protest  had  apparently  a  good  effect. 

Sitting  up  from  the  depths  of  his  high-backed 
chair,  and  waving  his  pipe  in  one  hand,  old  Isaac 
said,  dramatically: 

"  No,  Gilbert  Clinch,  I'm  not  crazy  or  in  my 
second  childhood.  I  tell  you  that  this  house  and 
farm  belong  to  you,  and  I  was  only  in  charge  until 
you  came." 

Gilbert  glanced  professionally  at  the  old  man's 
flushed  face  and  shining  eyes,  and  said,  soothingly : 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  wait  until  the  morning 
to  tell  me  about  it.  I'm  afraid  you're  tired  now." 

He  could  not  have  adopted  a  better  method  of 
making  Isaac  tell  his  tale,  for  his  obstinacy  was 
aroused  by  opposition. 

"  You  needn't  think  I'm  getting  a  fever,  or 
going  off  my  head.  It's  plain  gospel  truth  that  I'm 
telling  you,  you  mind  that,  sir! 

"  Old  Jonathan  Bauer,  that  you're  so  fond  of 
listening  to  tales  about,  was  your  grandfather, 
though  you  never  saw  him,  nor  he  you. 

"  He  knew  of  you  though,  for  he  left  this  house 
and  farm  to  you,  though  your  mother  was  to  have 
the  say  first  as  to  whether  she  would  take  it  or  not. 

"  She  chose  not,  for  your  mother  was  high-flown, 
67 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

as  most  good  women  are,  and  thought  her  father's 
money  was  soiled  by  the  way  it  came.  As  if  money 
could  be  soiled !  " 

Here  Gilbert  in  sheer  desperation  interrupted. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  man  they  talk 
about  as  '  old  Pirate  Bauer  '  was  my  grandfather?  " 

"  Just  what  I  do  mean !  I  was  with  him  more 
than  one  voyage;  I  was  with  him  the  night  he 
died,  and  who  should  know  if  not  me? 

"  That's  all  old  women's  tales,  calling  him  a 
pirate.  He  was  the  devil's  own  for  setness,  and  if 
he  did  wild  things,  it  was  just  when  things  stood  in 
his  way,  and  he  walked  over  them. 

"  There's  many  no  better  than  he,  sitting  in  front 
pews,  in  black  coats  on  Sundays.  When  your 
mother  went  off  and  left  him,  I  thought  he  felt  it 
more  than  he  let  people  know.  Though  I  was  so 
much  younger,  he'd  sometimes  let  me  see  things 
that  he'd  hide  from  others.  It  was  soon  after  then, 
that  he  brought  home  his  foreign  wife  from  a  cruise 
that  I  didn't  go  on  —  laid  up  with  a  broken  leg  at 
home,  worse  luck.  There  must  have  been  rare 
doings  on  that  cruise  —  though  that's  neither  here 
nor  there.  She  was  a  handsome  young  witch  then, 
no  older  than  his  daughter,  and  she  always  hated 
him,  however  he  got  her." 

The  deep-seated,  jealous  resentment  of  a  faithful 
dog  revived  in  Isaac's  voice  as  he  went  on : 

"  She  drove  me  away  from  his  bedside  the  night 
that  he  lay  dying.  But  she  didn't  know  that  the 
day  before,  when  she  was  out  of  the  way,  he  had 
given  me  a  package  to  go  to  your  mother  or  you  — 
for  he  knew  of  your  birth  and  name,  same  as  he 
made  a  point  of  knowing  about  everything  —  when 

68 


THE    MOORINGS 

one  of  you  should  come  back  to  seek  the  old  house 
he  had  left  you;  not  before,  for  he  wasn't  one  to 
benefit  people  against  their  will.  He  told  me  dis- 
tinct that  you  weren't  to  have  the  papers  until  you 
had  claimed  the  house;  indeed,  I  don't  know  but 
what  I'm  disobeying  him  in  telling  you  about  them. 
Still,  perhaps  he's  changed  his  mind  by  now,  and 
anyway  —  " 

He  paused  meditatively,  but,  just  as  Gilbert  was 
about  to  question  him,  went  on  again: 

"  As  I  was  saying,  your  mother  refused  the  legacy 
for  herself  and  her  child,  but  when  it  was  about 
time  for  you  to  come  of  age,  I  went  to  the  lawyer 
in  Bridgewater  and  got  him  to  write  again.  There 
was  the  same  old  answer,  full  of  Scripture  texts, 
about  wages  of  sin  and  so  forth. 

"  She  needn't  have  been  so  down  on  her  poor 
dead  pa,  but  she  was  a  hard  woman,  I  guess ;  all  the 
Bauers  are.  Dare  say,  too,  she  was  still  going  by 
what  your  pa  had  said,  and  parsons  —  " 

In  spite  of  the  dull  anger  growing  in  his  heart, 
Gilbert  checked  him. 

"  Hush,  Isaac,  you  must  not  speak  of  them  in 
that  way  to  me.  But  did  my  mother  refuse  like 
that  for  me,  after  I  was  grown  up  ?  " 

"  Indeed  she  did,  and  never  let  ye  know  a  word 
of  it,  I'll  be  bound.  That's  just  the  way  with  them 
saints.  They'll  drive  ye  in  the  right  way,  whether 
or  no,  like  a  pig  to  market." 

Here  Gilbert  put  in :  "  But  tell  me,  Isaac,  was 
my  grandfather  really  as  rich  as  they  say  he  was?  " 

Isaac  brought  his  hand  down  emphatically. 

"  He  was  richer  far  than  they  ever  guessed.  He 
died  the  richest  man  in  the  whole  Province,  and  one 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

of  the  Queen's  own  Council  at  Halifax,  though  I 
never  heard  of  her  coming  there  to  be  counselled." 

"  But  who  has  all  this  now  ?  "  came  the  next 
question. 

"  The  Frenchwoman  has  one-third,  and  that  poor 
stupid  son  of  hers  has  the  other  two.  Never  could 
have  thought  that  a  son  of  the  old  man's  could  have 
been  so  wanting  in  brains  and  go.  His  mother  used 
to  rule  him  and  his  genteel  wife,  and  I  expect  she 
does  so  still.  The  only  thing  that  he  was  like 
his  father  in,  was  his  love  of  money,  though  he'd 
never  have  had  the  sense  to  make  any  for  himself. 
He  could  save,  though,  just  as  well  as  the  old  man 
could,  and  that  was  the  only  thing  him  and  his 
mother  ever  differed  about." 

"  But  where  are  these  people  now  ?  Why,  if  you 
are  right,  he  is  my  uncle." 

"  He's  your  uncle,  fast  enough.  And  soon  after 
the  old  man's  death,  they  all  went  away  to  England 
to  live.  People  do  say  that  they  live  in  a  house 
in  the  country  as  big  as  the  Queen's,  and  that  they 
have  another  in  London,  too,  and  that  they  are  both 
chock-full  of  servants.  'T  would  make  the  old  man 
get  up  and  walk  if  he  knew. 

"  There's  one  son  and  one  daughter ;  little  things 
they  were  when  I  last  saw  them,  though  the  lawyer 
says  that  he's  a  fine  young  officer  now;  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  but  that  the  girl  has  been  took 
to  make  a  curtsey  to  the  Queen.  Ah,  your  mother 
missed  a  fine  chance  when  she  left  the  old  man,"  and 
he  gave  a  regretful  sigh  to  the  past. 

Gilbert  sat  mazed  by  this  picture  unrolled  to  him. 
Seeing  the  old  man's  earnestness,  he  could  scarcely 

70 


THE   MOORINGS 

doubt  his  veracity;  besides,  were  not  his  wildest 
statements  supported  by  facts  known  to  his  hearer. 

But  Isaac  leant  forward,  an  emphatic  hand  on 
Gilbert's  knee,  his  voice  hoarse  with  suspense. 

"  And  now,  young  man,  tell  me,  what  will  you 
do?  Will  you  take  the  house  and  the  letter,  or  will 
you  set  yourself  up  to  be  better  than  other  people, 
and  go  on  taking  care  of  lunatics?  " 

There  was  a  silence,  on  which  the  wail  of  the 
sea-wind  sounded  at  the  window.  Gilbert  rose,  and 
kicked  together  the  brands  of  the  dying  fire. 

"  I  can  say  nothing  now.  I  am  bewildered ;  I 
must  think.  I  must  write  to  my  mother." 

Isaac  caught  at  his  arm  with  a  grip  that  made 
him  wince. 

"  Don't  do  that !  Act  for  yourself  now,  if  ever 
you  do  in  your  life.  She  never  understood  money, 
and  all  the  good  it  brings !  She  never  would  under- 
stand anything  save  churches  and  parsons.  She's 
not  the  kind.  If  you  want  to  talk,  go  to  the  lady 
out  there  "  —  Isaac  always  spoke  reverentially  of 
Isabel  Broderick  as  "  the  lady." 

"  By  the  looks  of  her,  she's  got  as  much  sense  as 
women  can  have  in  the  course  of  nature,"  he  added. 

Gilbert  still  stood  staring  into  the  dying  embers, 
as  though  reading  his  fate  there.  At  last  he  roused 
himself  to  say: 

"  At  any  rate,  I'll  go  and  think  it  over  to-night." 
Then  holding  out  his  hand,  "  And  thank  you, 
Isaac,  for  what  you  have  told  me.  I  feel  sure  that 
you  want  to  be  my  friend." 

"  Well,  it  seems  as  though  the  old  man's  grandson 
belonged  to  me  in  a  way."  Isaac  responded,  with  an 
embarrassed  sort  of  heartiness. 

71 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  LUST  OF  GOLD 

GILBERT  went  out  into  the  freshness  of  the 
summer  night,  his  head  buzzing  with  the 
conflict  of  the  new  line  of  thought  with  the 
old. 

The  tide  was  down ;  there  was  a  nearly  full  moon, 
and  he  took  his  way  out  from  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  to  the  firm  footing,  the  air  and  space  of  the 
long  sand-bar.  Here  he  could  pace  with  no  thought 
given  to  his  surroundings,  and  try  by  action  to  still 
the  turmoil  of  his  spirit. 

There  was  a  dull  resentment  against  the  parents 
who  in  their  self-righteousness  had  decided  his  fate 
for  him,  when  it  was  the  right  of  his  manhood 
to  have  spoken  for  himself.  There  was  a  keen 
curiosity  to  see  these  talked-of  papers;  in  fact, 
he  knew  in  the  unexplored  recesses  of  his  mind  that 
he  could  not  give  up  the  chance  of  seeing  them. 
It  would  have  been  easier  to  have  renounced  a 
certainty  than  this  wonderful  possibility. 

"  The  richest  man  in  the  Province,"  and  all  at 
once  he  realised,  with  a  certain  shock,  the  intense 
desire  for  wealth  that  lay  in  his  nature. 

It  must  have  always  been  there  dormant,  as  a 
72 


THE   LUST   OF   GOLD 

hereditary  feature,  or  else  perhaps  created  by  the 
self -sacrifices  and  deprivations  of  his  student  life. 
However  it  came,  there  it  was,  and  like  Lucifer, 
the  Son  of  the  Morning,  it  unrolled  before  him 
"  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  thereof." 

He  saw  himself,  freed  from  the  galling  bond  of 
being  Isabel  Broderick's  paid  retainer ;  free  to  devote 
himself  to  her  service,  with  as  little  thought  of  self 
as  any  knight  of  old;  free'  to  be  near  her  under 
any  circumstances,  without  consideration  of  his  own 
career. 

He  had  heard  her  talk  of  men  who  led  society, 
who  travelled,  explored  in  the  wild  places  of  the 
earth.  He  could  show  her  that  he,  too,  given  a 
chance,  could  take  a  place  among  these  men,  could 
be  good  for  something  beyond  medical  drudgery. 

Gradually,  a  system  of  action  evolved  itself  from 
these  confused  thoughts,  if  thoughts  they  could  be 
really  called.  He  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion 
that  these  papers  must  necessarily  bring  him  a  chance 
of  wealth,  but  he  compromised  on  the  idea  of  merely 
claiming  the  farm,  and  reading  the  papers  without 
deciding  to  use  them.  When  he  had  read  them, 
he  could  write  to  his  mother,  for  his  wrath  was 
already  cooling,  as  he  realised  that  she  had  acted 
according  to  her  lights,  as  a  fanatic  would  act,  and 
that  it  was  irrational  to  blame  her  for  so  doing. 

He  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  to  himself  that  he 
would  do  nothing  against  her  wishes,  though  feeling 
all  the  time  that  the  resolution  was  of  frail  structure. 

There  was,  of  course,  the  consideration  that  his 
mother's  secret  reason  for  leaving  home  may  have 
sprung  from  so  dark  a  cause  that  he  would  have 
no  choice  as  a  man  of  honour  but  to  abide  by  it, 

73 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

but  this  consideration  he  refused  to  bring  out  into 
the  daylight  of  possibility. 

Well,  the  tide  was  rising,  and  unless  he  wished 
to  return  wading,  he  had  better  hurry  back. 

As  he  went  up  the  path  between  the  apple-trees, 
he  saw  a  figure  sitting  on  the  steps,  wrapped  in  the 
folds  of  a  long  white  cloak,  and  was  seized  with  a 
sudden  compunction. 

"  Good  heavens !  I  hope  that  I  have  not  kept  you 
up,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  as  he  approached  her.  "  I 
was  stupid  enough  to  forget,  when  I  strolled  out, 
that  you  did  not  know  where  I  was.  Forgive  me." 

He  almost  thought  that  in  the  clear  moonlight 
he  saw  her  colour,  as  she  answered : 

"  Indeed,  you  were  not  the  cause  of  my  being 
up  late.  If  I  had  been  tired,  I  should  have  gone 
to  bed  and  left  the  door  open.  This  summer  moon- 
light seems  to  arouse  one's  restlessness.  I  find  that 
I  sleep  better  if  I  sit  up  late." 

"  How  have  you  been  sleeping  ?  "  was  his  quietly 
solicitous  question. 

"  Oh,  fairly  well,  with  ups  and  downs  of  course," 
she  answered,  carelessly;  then  turning  the  subject: 
"  But  it  seems  that  the  spirit  of  restlessness  has 
seized  upon  you  as  well." 

"  I  had  enough  to  make  me  restless ;  "  then,  with 
an  uncontrollable  impulse  toward  confidence,  he 
began,  looking  up  at  her  as  he  sat  on  a  lower  step : 

"  The  mystery  was  settled  to-night." 

"How?" 

He  told  her  Isaac's  story.  She  listened  in  silence, 
save  when,  now  and  then,  she  put  in  a  short  question, 
which  showed  how  fully  her  interest  was  aroused. 

"  I  am  ashamed  at  my  want  of  stability  in  being 
74 


THE   LUST   OF   GOLD 

so  disturbed  by  it,  but  —  what  do  you  think  of 
it  all  ?  "  he  appealed  to  her. 

Her  answer  came  with  no  indecision. 

"  I  think  that  it  may  be  the  one  great  chance  of 
your  life  if  you  seize  it  firmly.  Remember  how 
long  and  hard  your  work  to  get  a  place  in  the  world 
was  made  by  poverty.  Remember  how,  in  the  days 
when  we  were  both  young  and  poor  —  "  her  voice 
quivered  slightly  —  "  we  did  without  all  pleasant 
and  cheerful  things,  just  to  grind  on  with  dogged- 
ness.  Think  of  going  out  on  those  early  winter 
mornings  after  a  poor  breakfast,  and  not  too  warmly 
clad,  to  the  long  day's  brain-effort.  I  sometimes 
wake  up  with  a  start  to  those  mornings  still.  Ah, 
poverty  is  a  cruel,  unlovely  thing!  " 

"  But  the  struggle  gave  us  strength,"  he  urged, 
feeling  the  subtle  pleasure  of  the  "  us  "  that  linked 
them  together. 

"  A  hard,  bitter  strength  that  darkened  our 
natures,"  she  objected.  "  Not  that  natural  expand- 
ing that  comes  with  ease  and  space  and  sunshine. 
Believe  me,  I  have  tasted  and  I  know." 

"  Then  you  mean  that  money  is  able  to  give  hap- 
piness, in  spite  of  what  the  copy-books  say  ?  "  he 
asked,  trying  to  hide  the  earnestness  of  the  question 
under  carelessness. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  before  she  answered 
slowly : 

"  Happiness  being  practically  an  unknown  quan- 
tity, it  is  not  worth  while  taking  it  into  account. 
But  content  must  be  far  more  easily  won  with 
all  the  change  and  interest  that  wealth  creates 
around  one,  with  the  chances  of  self-development 
that  it  gives.  Health  and  position  and  career,  wealth 

75 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

can  give ;  and  say  that  one  should  be  positively  un- 
happy, is  not  forgetfulness  more  easily  attained  in 
the  work  that  wealth  makes  easy  and  interesting? 
Think,"  she  went  on,  leaning  forward  eagerly,  "  of 
what  your  profession  might  be  to  you  if  you  had 
the  money  to  study  where  and  how  you  liked,  in- 
stead of,  as  now,  having  to  consider  the  earning  of 
your  income.  You  love  your  work,  I  know ;  think 
of  how  travel  and  leisure  may  help  you  in  it. 
Think  of  that,  before  you  give  up  anything.  This 
old  man  was  right.  Your  mother  may  be  the  best 
of  women,  and  yet  not  be  competent  to  decide  for 
you  in  this  matter." 

"  I  should  not  allow  her  to  decide  for  me,"  was 
his  quiet  answer.  "  Yes,  you  are  a  good  pleader, 
but  what  if  it  came  too  late?  What  if  I  had  been 
rich  that  summer  in  the  Vermont  hills !  " 

The  night  and  his  own  thoughts  were  going  to 
his  head,  but  as  he  looked  up  at  her  intently,  he 
saw  her  wince  as  if  in  pain,  and  the  sight  sobered 
him  at  once. 

"Don't!"  she  breathed  quickly,  but  recovering 
herself,  went  on,  resolutely :  "  Nothing  comes  too 
late,  unless  we  choose  to  think  it  so.  I  saw  some- 
where the  other  day,  that  '  only  the  weak  have  a 
past,'  and  I  felt  its  truth." 

There  was  a  warning  note  of  self-control  in  her 
voice,  and,  as  she  rose,  Gilbert  made  no  effort  to 
detain  her.  But  she  did  not  turn  away  at  once. 

"  Promise  me,"  she  said,  "  that  in  the  morning 
you  will  satisfy  the  old  man,  and  get  the  papers  ?  " 

Gilbert  did  not  answer  directly. 

"  If  I  were  rich,"  he  said,  "  I  should  always  be 
free  to  come  when  you  needed  me,  to  stay  near  you, 

76 


THE   LUST   OF   GOLD 

But,  after  all,  what  nonsense  it  is  to  talk  like  this 
about  riches,  when  there  is  only  one  small  farm  in 
question." 

"  There  is  more  than  the  farm  in  question,  I  am 
sure.  Take  it  first,  and  see  what  follows.  Promise 
me." 

"  If  you  will  promise  that  I  may  always  be  your 
friend,"  he  urged. 

"  That  seems  rather  an  unnecessary  ceremony," 
she  tried  to  jest ;  then,  "  but  I  promise,"  she  added, 
softly,  and  let  him  take  her  hand  for  a  moment 
before  she  moved  away. 

Gilbert,  feeling  the  uselessness  of  trying  to 
sleep,  forced  himself  by  sheer  will-power  into  steady- 
ing his  mind  with  some  scientific  reading,  and  then, 
tired  out,  slept  heavily.  In  the  morning  he  found, 
on  waking,  that  what  had  seemed  undecided  the 
night  before,  was  now  a  fixed  course  of  action  in 
his  mind. 

He  breakfasted  early,  before  Mrs.  Broderick  had 
appeared,  and  then  sought  out  old  Isaac,  in  his  hand 
the  letter  to  the  lawyer  in  Bridgewater,  announcing 
his  identity  and  claiming  the  farm. 

"  How  would  you  fancy  a  sail  up  to  Bridgewater 
to-day?"  he  began,  and  Isaac,  glancing  from  the 
latent  smile  on  his  face,  to  the  letter,  took  in  his 
meaning  at  once. 

'  That's  right ;  you're  going  to  act  like  the 
sensible  man  you  are,  and  get  things  started  right 
off.  Yes,  I'll  go  to  Bridgewater,  or  do  anything  else 
you  may  want  me  to  do.  It's  the  old  man's  orders 
as  I'm  following,  and  hasn't  he  given  me  a  roof 
over  my  head,  this  many  a  day!  When  shall  we 
set  out?"  he  asked,  heartily. 

77 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 

"I'm  not  going  myself,  for  1  don't  care  to  be  so 
long  away  from  here." 

Isaac's  face  fell  with  open  disappointment,  but  he 
agreed  loyally,  with  an  "  All  right,  sir." 

"  You  know  this  lawyer,  and  you  can  take  this 
letter  to  him,  and  tell  him  who  you  believe  me  to 
be,  and  how  we  met.  You  can  find  out  his  opinion 
as  to  handing  me  over  the  papers." 

"  But  1  never  told  him  a  word  about  the  papers, 
and  if  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,  I  don't  mean  to.  It 
was  just  a  matter  between  me  and  the  old  man, 
without  any  lawyers  meddling!  And  haven't  I 
the  package  all  ready  for  you,  sir?  I  got  it  out  of 
my  old  sea-chest  last  night,  on  purpose." 

Gilbert  stood  thinking  for  a  moment,  then  he 
saw  clearly  that  these  talked-of  documents  must  be 
rescued  from  any  air  of  mystery. 

"  See  here,  Isaac,"  he  began,  "  I  know  that  your 
object  is  to  benefit  me  in  the  matter,  and  I  feel  sure 
that  this  lawyer  of  yours  had  better  know  about 
the  papers  before  he  hands  me  over  the  farm.  Some 
one  might,  later,  try  to  make  out  that  they  were  a 
cooked-up  affair  between  you  and  me,  but  if  you 
tell  the  lawyer  about  them  before  you  give  them  to 
me,  it  lessens  the  chances  of  that  being  done.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  quite  say  as  I  do,"  was  the  dubi- 
ous answer,  "  but  I'll  take  your  orders  on  this  trip. 
And  you  won't  even  open  them  and  give  them  a 
squint  over?  "  wistfully. 

Gilbert,  too,  felt  the  temptation,  though  he  an- 
swered, firmly : 

"  Better  not,  Isaac,  better  not.  We  have  plenty 
of  time  ahead." 

78 


THE  LUST  OF   GOLD 

"  Very  well,  sir.  I'll  be  off  as  soon  as  possible," 
and  calling  his  grandson,  the  old  man  hobbled  away. 

Gilbert  stood  a  moment  irresolute.  He  wanted 
to  go  in  search  of  Mrs.  Broderick,  and  yet  some- 
how felt  that  he  would  prefer  to  have  an  excuse 
for  doing  so.  Ah,  there  she  was  in  her  white 
morning-dress,  gathering  a  handful  of  the  honey- 
suckle that  grew  by  the  steps.  Boyso  stood  on  the 
path,  looking  somewhat  tragic,  and  catching  sight 
of  Gilbert,  he  called  out,  dolefully : 

*'  Mr.  Lobsterman  is  gone  away." 

"  Ah,  but  he'll  come  back.  He  is  gone  to  fetch 
me  a  lobster  this  time,"  he  said,  taking  the  child's 
hand  and  approaching  Isabel. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said.  "  You  see  I  have 
been  obedient,  and  despatched  Isaac  with  my  letter 
to  this  lawyer  of  his  in  Bridgewater." 

His  words  and  aspect  were  a  continuation  of 
their  attitude  of  the  evening  before,  but  were  checked 
against  the  bright  armour  of  her  more  formal 
manner. 

"  Yes,"  she  smiled,  without  any  show  of  great 
interest.  "  Well,  let  us  hope  that  your  lobster  when 
it  comes  may  be  a  very  big  one  —  how  big  shall 
it  be,  Boyso?"  throwing  a  spray  of  honeysuckle 
toward  the  child. 

"  Oh,  a  big,  big,  grandpa  lobster.  Don't  you 
hope  it  will  be  a  grandpa  lobster,  Mr.  Kin?  "  Boyso 
crowed,  while  Gilbert,  chilled  and  disappointed, 
stood  silent. 

"  Certainly,  Boyso,  a  regular  patriarch ! "  he 
laughed,  shortly. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  husband  to-day  ?  "  Mrs.  Bro~ 

79 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

derick  asked,  with  the  little  shadowing  that  always 
came  with  his  name. 

At  the  simple  words  Gilbert  paled.  He  chose  to 
fancy  that  she  was  thus  reminding  him  of  the  reason 
for  his  presence,  and  of  his  duty. 

His  manner  was  all  professional,  as  he  answered, 
with  grave  politeness : 

"  I  generally  prefer  to  wait  until  he  is  settled 
down  in  his  studio  before  I  see  him.  But  as  it  is 
about  my  usual  time  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I 
will  go,"  and  with  a  bow  he  turned  away. 

"  Mummie,  don't  squeeze  me  so  tight,"  the  child 
protested,  as  his  mother  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
drew  him  into  her  arms. 


80 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   DEAD   HAND 

SORE  as  he  was  from  his  rebuff  when  he  turned 
away,  Gilbert's  trained  thoughts  went  at  once 
to  his  patient,  who  for  the  last  two  days  he 
had  been  noticing  to  be  more  restless. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  this  morning,  Hig- 
gins  ?  "  he  asked  the  attendant,  outside  the  door. 

The  latter  shook  his  head.  "  Not  so  quiet,  sir, 
and  not  so  easily  pleased.  Painting  seemed  to 
worry  him,  so  I  got  him  out,  and  nothing  outside 
seemed  to  please  him,  neither.  Began  to  cry  be- 
cause the  world  was  so  lovely,  and  was  going  to 
be  burned  up  soon.  Told  him  'twould  make  a  sight 
worth  painting,  but  that  didn't  answer  any  better. 
But  you'll  see  for  yourself,  sir." 

Gilbert  did  see  at  once  that  there  was  no  rest 
or  peace  in  the  pathetic  face.  Instead  of  working 
with  placid  absorption  on  his  beloved  picture,  Bro- 
derick  had  placed  against  it  a  small  panel,  on  which 
he  was  sketching  out,  with  his  brush,  groups  of  the 
woful  faces  of  lost  souls,  set  in  wild  curves  of 
flame.  Gilbert,  shuddering,  wondered  to  himself  if 
ever  such  woe  had  been  put  into  visible  form  before. 

The  thought  came  to  him  that  insanity  must  be 
charged  with  doubled  terrors  when  joined  to  the 

81 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

creative  power  of  artistic  imagination.  Contrary 
to  his  wont,  Broderick  turned  round  to  him  on  his 
entrance. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  visions  of  lost  souls  ?  "  he  asked, 
earnestly. 

"  No,  and  I  think  I'd  rather  not.  They  can't  be 
pleasant  things  to  see.  I  don't  believe  they'd  come 
if  you  were  out  in  the  fresh  air  and  sunshine.  Go- 
ing for  a  stroll  this  morning?"  Gilbert  said  in 
studiously  matter-of-fact  tones. 

A  deeper  look  of  perplexed  distress  came  into  the 
troubled  eyes. 

"  They  wouldn't  like  it  if  I  weren't  here;  "  then, 
in  a  more  peevish  tone,  and  with  an  irritated  side 
glance  at  Gilbert,  "  and  they  don't  like  it  when 
people  come  in  and  out,  and  talk.  They  want  me  to 
put  them  into  form  and  shape,  so  that  the  living  can 
see  their  woe  —  their  woe,"  he  repeated  in  a  dreamy 
tone. 

Seeing  that  it  would  be  best  to  leave  him  undis- 
turbed, Gilbert  withdrew. 

"  There  is  certainly  a  change  for  the  worse,"  he 
acknowledged  to  Higgins.  "  Still,  it  is  slight,  and 
will,  I  fancy,  go  on  very  gradually.  I  think  that 
I  shall  take  my  rod  and  go  after  some  sea-trout. 
Keep  a  careful  eye  on  him." 

He  felt  that  he  would  do  much  to  avoid  meeting 
Mrs.  Broderick  at  lunch,  and  that  solitude  was  the 
best  medicine  for  his  troubled  spirit. 

Half  an  hour  ago  his  heart  had  been  sore  and 
angry  at  Isabel's  repulse,  but  now  the  self-control 
of  his  careful  mental  training  resumed  its  place,  and 
he  tried  to  think  only  of  the  crisis  that  was  coming 
in  her  life,  when  she  should  be  obliged  to  consign 

82 


THE    DEAD    HAND 

her  husband  to  what  would  be  a  lifelong  imprison- 
ment. 

What  were  her  feelings  toward  that  husband? 
What  were  her  feelings  toward  himself?  And 
with  that,  his  young  manhood  asserted  itself,  and 
he  saw  her,  fair  in  last  night's  moonlight,  eager 
in  his  interest.  He  saw  her  next  in  the  morning 
sunshine,  smiling  that  impenetrable  smile,  and  po- 
litely hinting  that  his  affairs  were  none  of  her 
business. 

Ah,  but  they  were,  and  they  should  be,  he  vowed, 
hotly,  to  himself;  and  then  his  last  night's  desire 
for  riches  awoke,  riches,  to  enable  him  to  stand 
beside  her  on  an  equal  footing. 

They  should  be  no  longer  the  gracious  patroness 
who  had  bestowed  easy  and  remunerative  work 
upon  the  clever,  struggling  young  doctor,  but  man 
and  woman  —  and  what  then  ?  his  conscience  and 
common  sense  queried,  checking  him  abruptly,  so 
that,  alone  as  he  was,  the  hot  dye  of  shame  rose 
to  his  face. 

No,  he  was  her  loyal  friend  and  servant,  and, 
rich  or  poor,  he  would  be  so  still.  And  who  was 
he  to  judge  her  varying  shades  of  manner,  he,  of 
all  men,  who  had  made  his  life-study  of  the  subtle 
action  of  the  distressed  spirit  upon  the  body,  of 
the  fashion  in  which  tortured  nerves  can  betray 
themselves?  And  so,  like  many  another  man  be- 
fore him,  Gilbert  found  calm  and  courage  in  Na- 
ture's high  places,  bringing  back  with  him  from 
the  shadow  of  the  woods  a  saner,  kinder  view  of 
those  who  made  his  world.  It  is  a  true  test  of  the 
fibres  of  our  being,  whether  or  not  we  can  go  to 
Nature  for  new  strength  and  find  it. 

83 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

He  had  walked  far,  and  lingered  through  the 
sunset  time,  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  fisherman,  so 
that  the  world  was  again  flooded  in  silver  when  he 
reached  the  Moorings. 

There  was  no  sign  of  any  one  about,  and  he 
went  off  to  his  own  den,  where  the  servants  were 
in  the  habit  of  leaving  some  supper  for  him  if 
he  had  been  out. 

Lighting  his  lamp,  he  fell  to  on  the  cold  meat 
with  the  hearty  zest  of  a  tired  man.  As  he  flung 
himself  back  in  his  hammock-chair  and  lit  his  even- 
ing pipe,  all  the  self-tormenting  thoughts  of  the 
day  were  lost  in  a  general  sense  of  well-being,  the 
result  of  healthy  bodily  fatigue. 

What  a  refuge  our  bodies  can  be  made  at  times 
from  the  wearisome  strife  of  the  spirit!  He  had 
all  but  drifted  into  a  doze  when  his  door  was  pushed 
slightly  open,  and  Isaac's  wrinkled  face  peered 
round  it.  With  the  sight,  Gilbert's  wits  sprang  into 
sudden  wakefulness.  Here  was  the  messenger  of 
fate. 

"What,  Isaac,  back  already?" 

"  Yes,  the  wind  was  most  unusually  accommodat- 
ing. A  fair  south  wind  up,  that  shifted  round 
enough  to  the  west  to  give  us  a  fair  wind  down. 
I  take  it  that's  a  sign  of  your  luck,  sir." 

"Well,  let's  hope  so.  Had  some  supper?  If 
not,  there's  plenty  on  the  table.  At  any  rate,  sit 
down  and  have  a  pipe." 

"  Thanking  ye  heartily,  the  last's  what  I'll  do. 
Me  and  the  boy  had  a  mouthful  aboard,"  and  Isaac 
settled  himself  in  a  high-backed  rush-chair,  and 
proceeded  to  fill  his  pipe. 

Gilbert  watched  him  in  silence,  not  revealing  by 
84 


THE   DEAD    HAND 

word  or  sign  the  impatience  for  tidings  that  pos- 
sessed him. 

"  Well,  you'll  be  wanting  to  hear  what  I  did." 

"  In  your  own  good  time,  my  friend."  If  there 
were  a  slightly  sarcastic  touch  in  the  remark,  Isaac 
failed  to  see  it.  He  settled  to  tell  his  tale,  with 
variations  not  unbearably  lengthy.  He  had  gone 
to  Mr.  Scarfe,  and  recounted  Gilbert's  first  appear- 
ance at  the  farm,  and  the  various  questions  and 
proofs  by  which  he  had  discovered  that  he  was 
really  Jonathan  Bauer's  grandson. 

"  Mr.  Scarfe  thought  it  all  fair  sailing,  and  that 
when  you  and  he  met,  he  would  most  likely  find 
that  he  could  hand  the  farm  over  to  you,  —  any- 
ways, the  delays  would  just  be  your  getting  docu- 
ments or  such  from  your  mother." 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  how  about  my  grandfather's  pa- 
pers?" Gilbert  could  not  help  interrupting. 

"  That's  all  right.  Mr.  Scarfe  didn't  see  no 
objection  to  your  and  me  opening  them."  This 
was  Isaac's  method  of  saying  that  he  had  told  Mr. 
Scarfe  that  the  papers  were  his  affair,  and  that  he 
intended  to  hand  them  over  to  Gilbert,  without 
taking  any  one  else's  opinion  in  the  matter. 

"  And  so,"  Isaac  went  on,  "  seeing  that  that's 
the  case,  I  just  slipped  the  thing  into  my  pocket 
as  I  came  over,"  and  here  he  slowly  produced  a  big 
sealed  envelope,  with  the  dulled  tint  that  years  give 
to  paper.  With  a  solemn  face,  he  handed  it  to 
Gilbert. 

"  There  it  is,  sir,  and  may  it  bring  you  good 
luck." 

"  Thank  you,  Isaac,"  was  the  warm  response, 
as,  with  a  firm  hand,  Gilbert  took  it.  The  crack- 

85 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

ling  of  the  seal  sounded  unnaturally  loud  in  his  ears, 
as  he  pulled  out  the  one  document  which  the  en- 
velope held. 

A  glance  showed  it  to  be  a  will,  short  and  to  the 
purpose,  made  by  Jonathan  Bauer,  dividing  all  his 
property  into  thirds,  one  of  which  he  left  to  his 
wife,  one  to  his  only  son,  one  to  his  daughter 
Susan's  child  or  children.  The  signature  was  wit- 
nessed by  Isaac  Neisner  and  Ellen  Sievert. 

"  You  must  know  something  of  this,  Isaac,  for 
here  is  your  signature,"  Gilbert  said,  with  a  keen 
glance  at  him.  "  It  is  a  will  of  my  grandfather's, 
giving  me  a  third  of  his  estate." 

"  The  Lord  save  us !  Then  it  really  and  truly 
is  that  will  that  Ellen  and  me  put  our  names  to  the 
week  before  he  died.  The  French  woman  had  gone 
out  to  church  —  it  was  some  saint's  day,  I  think 
—  and  he  bade  me  call  Ellen,  and  shut  the  door ; 
and  he  signed  —  see,  the  hand  is  feeble  like  —  and 
so  did  we. 

"  I  heard  no  more  about  it  till,  sitting  up  with 
him  two  nights  before  he  died,  he  pulls  that  en- 
velope out  from  under  his  pillow,  and  says,  '  Keep  it 
for  a  bit.  You'll  understand  next  week.  You're 
to  keep  it  till  Susan's  child  comes.  She's  stiff- 
necked  in  her  righteousness,  but  perhaps  —  there, 
take  it;  there's  some  one  listening.'  And,  sure 
enough,  just  as  I  got  it  in  my  pocket,  in  comes 
the  French  woman,  with  her  snaky  eyes.  Well, 
I  never  was  sure  if  this  were  the  will  that  I  had 
seen  or  not.  Thought  the  missus  might  have  got 
hold  of  it  and  destroyed  it.  But  when  the  years 
passed,  and  I  knew  that  you  must  be  grown  up, 
and  you  never  came,  I  began  to  say  to  myself  that, 

86 


THE   DEAD    HAND 

before  I  was  bedridden,  I  must  go  and  look  for  you. 
And  that's  just  what  I  was  pondering  over,  the 
morning  that  the  Powers  that  be  brought  you  to 
my  door." 

And  he  finished  this  harangue  with  a  grunt  of 
dramatic  solemnity. 

"  It's  all  strange  enough,"  Gilbert  agreed,  when 
Isaac  took  up  his  parable  again. 

"  There's  another  thing.  The  old  man  was 
never  too  free  with  his  words.  He  generally  meant 
every  word  he  said.  Now,  he  left  you  this  house 
and  contents.  The  contents  you  saw  weren't  much ; 
suppose  the  contents  you  haven't  seen  were?" 

Staring  at  him  in  growing  surprise,  Gilbert  asked, 
abruptly : 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  Do  you  mean  that 
you  know  of  anything  hidden  there?" 

Isaac  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know  of  anything.  'Twasn't  the  old 
man's  way.  But  I've  sometimes  poked  about,  with 
the  idea  that  there  might  be  something,  and,  though 
I've  found  nothing,  still,  I  think  'twould  be  worth 
your  while  to  have  a  good  search." 

Gilbert  shook  his  head.  "  Isaac,  you've  been 
reading  too  many  Sunday  papers.  They  are  the 
old  abiding-place  of  buried  treasure." 

But  Isaac  stood  to  his  guns. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  The  old  man  was  a  real 
sailor,  and  sailors  hides  things  like  magpies.  It's 
a  way  they  learn,  cramped  up  aboard  ship.  Just 
you  believe  me." 

Gilbert  laughed  impatiently. 

"  All  right.  You're  welcome  to  pull  the  whole 
place  to  bits  if  it  gives  you  any  pleasure,  seeing 

87 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

that,  but  for  you,  I  should  never  have  had  anything 
to  do  with  it.  We'll  dig  up  a  bag  of  diamonds 
in  the  cellar,  and  live  like  fighting-cocks  ever  after- 
ward, eh  ?  " 

But  Isaac  evidently  considered  this  a  flippant 
way  in  which  to  treat  a  serious  subject. 

"  There's  many  a  true  word  spoken  in  jest,"  was 
his  grave  retort,  nor  could  Gilbert  get  anything 
more  out  of  him. 


88 


CHAPTER    IX. 

OUR   LADY   OF    WRATH 

THE  next  morning  was  one  of  those  summer 
days  when,  looking  out  on  the  world,  the 
soul  bids  itself  rejoice  at  the  fair  gift  of 
life. 

As  usual,  Gilbert  had  breakfasted  alone,  but 
when  he  came  out  from  the  shadow  of  his  morn- 
ing visit  to  Broderick's  studio,  he  spied  the  white 
figures  of  mother  and  child  out  on  the  sand-bar, 
and  unhesitatingly  went  down  to  join  them.  Isabel 
was  seated  on  the  dry  sand  in  a  lazy  attitude,  but 
the  colour  in  her  face  told  that  she  had  had  a  hand 
in  the  building  of  the  sand  fortress,  around  which 
the  boy  was  still  hovering,  though  the  tide  was 
sapping  its  outer  walls.  Gilbert's  first  glance  into 
her  eyes  told  him  that  he  need  fear  no  distance- 
keeping  brightness,  for  those  eyes  were  wistful, 
almost  deprecating. 

"  This  is  a  morning  full  of  the  joy  of  life,"  he 
said,  cheerfully.  "  And  I  see  that  you  have  been  at 
work  early." 

"  And  am  now  sitting  watching  the  coming  de- 
struction of  my  work,  and  wondering  who  used 
the  words,  '  our  life's  strong  places  overthrown,' ' 

89 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

she  answered,  with  a  languor  veiling  the  hopeless- 
ness of  her  voice.  His  glance  swiftly  scanned  the 
drooping  curves  of  her  face. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  tired,"  he  suggested. 

"  Yes,  I'm  tired  with  the  double  tiredness  of 
yesterday  and  to-day.  You  know  that  there  are 
mornings  when  all  yesterday's  fatigues  get  up  with 
you." 

Yes,  he  knew  well  enough,  though  he  only  asked : 
"  How  did  yesterday  go?  " 

"  It  seemed  somehow  a  long  day,"  she  said, 
naively.  "  My  husband  was  restless,  and  stayed 
very  little  in  the  studio.  He  wandered  about  from 
the  shore  to  the  house,  and,  seeing  him,  made  the 
boy  restless,  too.  He  wanted  to  follow  his  father." 

"Did  you  let  him?" 

"  Only  when   I  was  with  him." 

Gilbert  hesitated  before  he  spoke.  "  I  hate  to 
tell  you  that  you  ought  to  break  him  of  the  habit." 

Instantly  the  latent  fear  awoke  in  her  eyes. 

"Why?" 

"  You  must  know  that  it  will  be  the  best  thing 
for  the  child  to  learn  to  forget  him,"  he  said,  gently. 

She  caught  her  breath  before  she  asked: 

"  You  have  less  hope  of  recovery,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  have  no  hope  now  ?  " 

"  Hardly  any.  In  fact,  it  is  more  honest  to  say 
that  I  have  none.  But  you  must  have  been  learning 
the  same  thing  for  yourself." 

She  made  no  answer,  and  after  those  few  quietly 
interchanged  sentences  there  was  a  silence. 

The  wavelets  of  the  rising  tide  broke  crisply 
against  the  sand  wall,  and  the  boy  chanted  to  him- 

90 


OUR    LADY   OF   WRATH 

self :  "  The  tide  comes  up,  and  the  walls  go  down, 
down." 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Isabel's  calm  voice 
asked :  "  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  day  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  want  a  pleasant  day,"  was  the  swift 
answer.  "  Forgive  me  for  having  left  you  for  so 
long,  but  I  needed  the  solitude.  A  tempestuous 
humour  had  got  stirred  up  by  all  the  Ancient 
Mariner's  mysteries,  and  I  had  to  get  it  settled 
down  a  bit.  There  is  nothing  like  a  good  tramp 
for  clearing  one's  brain.  Although  Isaac  arrived 
with  a  fresh  cargo  of  wonders  last  evening,  I  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  just." 

"  What  are  the  latest  wonders  ?  "  and  there  was 
now  no  flimsy  pretence  at  not  being  interested  in 
his  affairs. 

Gilbert  dug  his  elbow  comfortably  into  the  sand, 
so  that  he  could  lean  back  and  look  up  at  her. 

"  You  were  right.  I  have  a  chance  of  riches, 
though  how  much  that  chance  is  worth  remains 
to  be  seen." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  her  of  the  contents  of 
this  new  will.  She  listened  intently,  and  then 
asked :  "  And  have  you  decided  on  your  next 
move?  " 

The  wind  blew  across  his  hand  a  long  lace  scarf 
that  she  held  in  hers,  and  he  caught  its  edge  and 
carefully  smoothed  it  out  on  the  sand  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  No,  I  do  not  see  anything  that  I  can  do  until 
I  have  found  out  my  mother's  real  reason  for  re- 
nouncing her  share  of  her  father's  money.  It  can 
hardly  have  been  a  trifle,  and  I  may  find  that,  in 
common,  every-day  honesty,  it  binds  me,  too." 

91 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

With  an  impulsive  turn,  she  caught  him  by  the 
arm. 

"  You  won't  leave  me  now  ?  "  came  in  an  eager 
whisper. 

His  brown  hand  closed  over  hers.  "  No,"  he 
said,  gently. 

Presently  she  drew  her  hand  from  under  his, 
and  he  did  not  try  to  prevent  her.  Then  she  spoke 
in  her  usual  voice  again. 

"  But  you  must  see  your  mother.  It  would  be 
selfish  in  me  to  try  to  detain  you  here.  You  must 
wire  for  another  doctor,  and  leave  when  he  comes." 

"  Would  another  doctor  take  my  place  with 
you  ?  "  was  Gilbert's  impetuous  question. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  all  that  he  could  see 
was  the  oval  of  her  cheek,  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  boy;  but  still  he  seemed  to  feel  that 
her  silence  was  answer  enough. 

"  Come  away  from  the  waves,  Boyso,"  she  called 
presently,  in  a  clear  voice,  "  unless  you  want  to  get 
carried  off  as  a  water-baby,  and  never  see  mum- 
mie  any  more." 

Gilbert  stood  up,  and  then  spoke,  looking  down 
at  her: 

"  I  should  not  in  any  case,  go  to  my  mother  at 
once.  I  would  rather  learn  a  little  more  from  let- 
ters first.  If  our  wills  were  to  clash,  it  would  be 
the  less  trying  process  for  both  of  us." 

"  Do  you  expect  them  to  clash  ?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing up. 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  they  did.  My 
mother  is  a  determined  woman,  dominated  by  a 
gloomy  religion,  but  she  is  as  just  as  she  is  stern. 
She  must  see  now  that  I  have  a  right  to  know  what 

92 


OUR    LADY   OF   WRATH 

she  has  kept  hidden  from  me.  Then  I  must  choose 
my  own  road  for  myself.  But  we  shall  all  be 
turned  into  water-babies  if  we  stay  here  much 
longer.  Come,  Boyso ; "  then,  as  they  strolled 
homeward,  he  said: 

"  You  must  have  an  outing  to-day  to  blow  away 
the  shadows.  It  will  be  just  the  afternoon  to  take 
you  and  the  boy  for  a  sail." 

"  That  would  be  nice,"  she  agreed. 

And  so  the  hours  of  another  summer  day  wove 
their  golden  link  around  them. 

The  next  morning  a  south  wind  had  rolled  in 
the  Atlantic  fog,  chill  and  dreary  with  its  breath 
of  distant  icebergs.  Whether  it  were  the  influence 
of  the  skies  or  not,  there  was  a  corresponding  air 
of  gloom  over  the  little  group. 

Broderick  made  no  effort  to  paint,  but  paced  the 
studio  like  an  imprisoned  animal.  The  child  was 
unusually  restless  and  even  a  little  fretful,  and  Mrs. 
Broderick  looked  pale  and  troubled. 

Gilbert,  feeling  the  necessity  for  some  interest, 
proposed  that  they  should  divert  the  child's  attention 
from  his  father  by  exploring  a  disused  garret  that 
ran  out  over  one  portion  of  the  house. 

"  I  was  only  up  here  once  before,"  he  said,  "  and 
that  was  when  I  kicked  against  the  Spanish  lamp 
that  I  hung  in  the  hall.  Who  knows  but  what 
we  may  come  on  Isaac's  mythical  hidden  treasure! 
That  would  be  good  work  for  a  foggy  day,  wouldn't 
it?" 

Isabel  stood  looking  round  somewhat  listlessly 
on  the  piles  of  broken  furniture,  old  feather-beds 
and  pillows  that  mark  such  nooks,  but,  as  the  boy, 
seized  with  the  spirit  of  play,  dashed  round  the 

93 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

brick  chimney  that  rose  in  the  middle  of  the  place, 
crying,  "  Catch  me,  mummie,"  she  stooped  in  pre- 
tended pursuit. 

There  was  a  crash  from  behind  the  chimney,  as 
of  something  falling,  and  Isabel  darted  after  the 
child. 

He  was  standing  unhurt,  but  dusty  and  bewil- 
dered, by  a  large  square  canvas  that  had  fallen  to 
the  floor,  from  where  it  seemed  to  have  been  propped 
up,  painted  side  inwards,  concealing  an  open  hearth 
in  the  chimney. 

"What's  the  matter,  baby?"  was  the  mother's 
quick  question. 

"  Nofing,  mummie.  Boards  tumbled  down. 
Look!" 

Isabel  looked,  and  her  first  glance  showed  her 
that  it  was  an  old  painting  that  lay  on  the  floor. 
Even  through  the  dust  and  grime  she  could  see  a 
grave  young  face  looking  up  at  her.  Gilbert  was 
now  at  her  side. 

"  Oh,  look,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "  here  is  an  old 
painting,  some  saint,  I  think.  Carry  it  over  to  the 
window,  please." 

Delighted  to  have  aroused  her  to  such  interest, 
Gilbert  promptly  did  so,  and,  as  he  held  it,  Mrs. 
Broderick  knelt  on  the  floor,  wiping  off  the  dust 
with  an  old  wisp  of  canvas.  Gradually,  under  her 
touch,  the  gently  tragic  face  and  figure  that  is  famil- 
iar to  most  of  us,  in  galleries,  as  that  of  the  mar- 
tyred young  Roman  officer,  St.  Lawrence,  showed 
out  more  clearly  from  its  shadowy  background. 

"  I  thought  that  it  was  St.  Lawrence,"  she  ex- 
claimed, enthusiastically,  "  and,  if  I'm  not  very 

94 


OUR    LADY   OF   WRATH 

much  mistaken,  it  is  Spanish  work  of  not  long 
after  the  time  of  Velasquez." 

"  How  can  you  tell  that  ?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  how  one  can  tell  it.  One  feels 
it  more.  But  this  is  valuable,  I  think." 

"  Strange,"  he  commented,  thoughtfully.  "  That 
lamp  was  from  some  Spanish  shrine,  and,  if  this 
is  Spanish,  it  may  have  come  from  the  same  church. 
Let  us  hope  that  my  worthy  grandfather  did  not 
join  the  robbing  of  churches  to  his  other  fashions 
of  amassing  a  fortune." 

In  spite  of  the  lightness  of  his  words,  there  was 
something  in  them  which  caused  her  to  glance  up 
uneasily  at  him,  as  she  protested,  "  Don't  say  such 
things." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  Isaac's  theory  seems  to  be 
working  itself  out.  What  will  you  bet  on  the  next 
treasure-trove?  " 

His  question  remained  unanswered,  for  just  then, 
came  the  child's  shout  from  the  dark  recesses  beyond 
the  chimney. 

"  Mummie.  come  and  pick  up  the  doll.  Too 
heavy  for  Boyso.  Heavy,  dirty  doll.  Poor  dolly 
in  bed  in  dark." 

"  What  next  ?  "  Gilbert  said,  with  an  enigmatic 
smile,  as  he  followed  her. 

Boyso  was  half  in  and  half  out  of  the  open 
hearth,  and  even  his  protruding  legs  gave  a  hint 
of  his  grimy  condition. 

"  Come  out,  Boyso ;  let  Mr.  Clinch  see,"  and  his 
mother  drew  him  unwillingly  forth. 

"  Make  haste !  Get  the  dolly !  "  the  child  cried, 
dancing  with  eagerness. 

It  was  only  Gilbert's  sense  of  touch  that  availed 
95 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

him  as  he  groped  inside.  But  there  was  certainly 
something  there  in  the  inmost  corner  of  the  hearth, 
and  at  last,  used  to  the  darkness,  his  eyes  detected 
the  outlines  of  an  image  of  between  two  and  three 
feet  long.  His  hands  told  him,  as  well  as  the  weight 
when  he  tried  to  move  it,  that  it  was  made  of 
metal. 

"  Here's  another  saint  to  match  St.  Lawrence !  " 
he  said,  grimly,  as  he  drew  it  out  and  set  it  up- 
right. 

There  was  something  almost  like  disgust  in  the 
way  in  which  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  dark 
shape  of  what  was  evidently  intended  for  the  Vir- 
gin of  the  Seven  Daggers,  but  Mrs.  Broderick  was 
all  delighted  curiosity,  as  she  knelt  beside  it,  wiping 
off  the  dust  as  she  had  done  with  the  St.  Lawrence. 

Just  then  a  ray  of  late  afternoon  sunshine,  redly 
piercing  the  fog,  struck  in  horizontally  at  the  left 
window. 

"It's  silver!"  she  exclaimed  with  joy. 


" «  Our  Lady  born  smiling  and  smart, 

With  a  pink  gauze  gown  all  spangles,  and 
Seven  swords  stuck  in  her  heart.' " 


Gilbert  quoted,  sardonically. 

"  The  *  seven  swords '  are  the  only  appropriate 
words,  so  far,"  she  retorted.  "  Oh,  but  look !  " 

Gilbert,  too,  had  seen  the  marvellous  sight  of 
the  line  of  green  fire  that  answered  the  ray  of  sun- 
shine, as  her  hand  passed  over  the  dust  on  the 
border  of  the  long  robe. 

Quickly  she  brushed  over  the  surface,  and  then 
drew  back  to  gaze  in  amazement.  The  line  of  green 

96 


OUR    LADY   OF   WRATH 

stones  ran  right  round  the  robe  and  up  the  front,  to 
where  its  folds  were  gathered  in  one  hand. 

Each  hilt  of  the  seven  daggers  in  the  breast  was 
of  rubies,  and  over  the  head  hovered  an  open  crown 
of  diamonds.  Besides  this,  it  was  evident,  even  to 
Gilbert,  that  the  workmanship  was  of  the  best 
Renaissance  period. 

There  was  no  word  spoken  between  them.  The 
only  sound  was  the  child's  lisp  of  "Pretty  dolly! 
pretty  dolly !  "  as  he  twisted  one  arm  around  the 
neck  and  laid  his  warm  cheek  against  the  cold 
silver  one. 

At  last  Gilbert  spoke  hoarsely :  "  They  cannot 
be  real!" 

The  words  were  neither  a  question  nor  an  asser- 
tion, but  merely  spoke  the  bewilderment  in  his  mind. 

"  They  are  worth  a  king's  fortune,  if  they  are. 
And  they  must  be  yours.  Old  Isaac  was  right." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  agreed,  slowly.  "  The  house 
and  contents  did  mean  something,  after  all." 

The  eager  interest  in  her  face  all  at  once  shad- 
owed over,  as  she  said,  piteously: 

"  Oh,  now  you  will  have  to  leave  us  at  once,  and 
take  it  and  the  picture  to  New  York  to  find  out  their 
value.  A  museum  or  a  millionaire  collector  would 
buy  the  image  as  it  is.  It  would  be  such  a  pity 
to  spoil  its  beauty." 

"  You  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  decide  everything," 
Gilbert  smiled,  "  but  I  think  that  we  will  take  it 
more  leisurely  than  that.  The  first  thing  I  must 
do  is  to  fetch  Isaac,  and  see  what  he  knows  about 
it.  I  wonder  if  he  has  been  bamboozling  me  all 
along,  and  meant  me  to  find  it  for  myself,"  and  his 
air  was  somewhat  stern  as  he  turned  away. 

97 


CHAPTER    X. 

ISAAC    MEETS   AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE 

HE  found  Isaac,  like  other  heroes  before  him, 
absorbed  in  his  cabbages,  and  hailed  him 
more  abruptly  than  was  his  wont. 

"  I  wish  that  you  would  come  up  to  the  garret 
and  see  what  you  think  of  making  another  room 
in  the  dark  north  end.  It  has  an  open  hearth  in 
the  chimney,  and  only  needs  a  skylight  in  the  roof," 
he  found  himself  improvising.  It  did  not  seem 
so  easy  to  begin  at  once  about  the  image.  Isaac 
looked  up,  stretching  his  bent  back,  and  grunting: 

"  None  there  that  ever  I  see." 

There  was  no  furtive  inquiry  in  the  ruminating 
gaze  that  he  turned  on  Gilbert. 

"  Something  that  Boyso  knocked  down  was 
standing  up  in  front  of  it.  It  seems  to  be  an  old 
picture." 

Isaac  looked  more  interested. 

"  That  dismal  old  saint,"  he  said,  scornfully. 
"  Never  could  make  out  where  it  came  from  among 
Dutch  folk  that  had  ne'er  a  Papist  in  their  families. 
The  old  man  had  a  sort  of  fancy  for  it  always. 
He  put  it  there  himself  the  last  time  that  ever  he 
was  here.  You  see,  after  he  went  to  live  in  town, 
and  got  old,  he'd  sometimes  take  it  into  his  head 

98 


ISAAC  MEETS  AN  ACQUAINTANCE 

to  come  down  here  for  a  day  or  two  alone  with 
me,  though  I  never  could  make  out  why  he  did  it. 
He  wasn't  one  to  go  on  about  *  the  past,  and  young 
days,'  and  all  that  stuff." 

As  the  old  man  talked,  Gilbert  felt  his  vague 
suspicions  clear  from  his  brain.  They  had  reached 
the  garret,  where  Mrs.  Broderick  still  sat  on  an 
overturned  box,  gazing  at  the  statue,  which  seemed 
to  grimly  face  her  and  the  sunshine.  Boyso  rushed 
out  to  drag  Isaac  forward  by  the  hand,  crying, 
shrilly :  "  Mr.  Lobsterman,  come  and  see  the  new 
doll.  Mummie  said  it's  Mr.  Kinch's." 

But  for  once,  Isaac  paid  no  heed  to  the  child's 
touch  or  voice. 

At  sight  of  the  silver  figure,  he  almost  staggered 
back,  with  an  alarmed  recognition  that  was  unmis- 
takably genuine. 

"  Great  Jehoshaphat !  The  Virgin  of  Wrath ! 
Then  the  old  man  did  really  take  it.  The  men 
always  said  he  did,  but  I  never  believed  them,  and 
they  were  none  of  them  able  to  say  what  he  had 
done  with  it.  Well,  he  wasn't  scared  of  Heaven 
or  Hell,  he  wasn't,"  and  there  was  something  in 
face  and  voice,  in  the  very  shrinking  gesture,  which 
told  that  the  speaker  was. 

"What  should  he  be  scared  of?"  Gilbert  de- 
manded, shortly. 

Isaac  slowly  shook  his  head,  as  he  answered: 

"  The  natives  were  every  man  of  them  afeard 
of  that  Virgin  because  of  her  powers.  If  you  went 
to  her  alone  at  midnight  with  a  candle,  she'd  let 
you  have  your  wickedest  prayer  against  your  en- 
emy! Oh,  you  needn't  laugh,  sir.  I've  known  more 
than  one  that's  tried  it,  and  got  their  evil  will. 

99 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

While  if  you  did  any  slight  or  disrespect  to  the 
image  herself,  you'd  repent  it.  Now  I  always 
thought  there  was  a  time  when  a  current  of  luck 
seemed  to  set  against  the  old  man.  I  put  it  down 
to  the  missus's  spells,  but  it's  been  this  as  has  done 
it.  It  stands  to  reason,"  he  went  on,  in  his  argu- 
mentative tone,  "  that  no  woman  so  decked  out 
would  like  to  be  poked  away  in  a  chimney  all  these 
years!  There!  that's  better." 

With  quaint  reverence,  he  lifted  the  statue  and 
set  it  on  a  packing-case,  immediately  backing  away 
to  a  certain  distance.  While  Gilbert  was  below, 
Mrs.  Broderick  had  been  cleaning  it  still  more, 
and  the  exquisite  modelling  of  the  long,  oval  face 
showed  out  distinctly. 

"  It  is  certainly  Spanish  Renaissance  work,"  she 
said,  laying  a  gentle  touch  on  its  beauty. 

"  How  do  you  know  what  image  it  is,  Isaac  ?  " 
Gilbert  demanded. 

"  Haven't  I  seen  it  more  times  than  one,  in  its 
own  church  in  Brazil,  the  pride  of  the  whole  coun- 
tryside ?  And  haven't  I  heard  the  men  —  most  of 
them  dead  now,  but  our  own  folks  from  round  the 
shore  —  haven't  I  heard  them  tell  how  the  old  man 
cleared  out  before  daylight,  after  coming  on  board 
with  a  heavy  box  at  midnight;  and  how  they  had 
first  yellow  fever,  and  then  storms,  till  no  man 
thought  he  would  ever  see  the  La  Have  again? 

"  And  didn't  they  all  think  that  there  was  some 
bad  luck  fallen  among  them,  though  'twasn't  till 
after  awhile,  when  one  or  two  of  them  had  been  back 
there  in  other  ships,  that  they  heard  of  the  story 
of  the  vanishing  of  the  famous  Virgin,  and  guessed 
what  had  happened.  They  were  scared  men  then, 

100 


ISAAC  MEETS  AN  ACQUAINTANCE 

even  to  think  of  it.  Ah,  I  missed  a  deal  by  stay- 
ing ashore  with  my  broken  leg  that  trip." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  grandfather 
stole  that  statue  out  of  a  church  ?  " 

Isaac  looked  taken  aback  at  the  stern  voice,  but 
quick  to  mark  how  the  land  lay,  he  answered,  glibly : 

"  Well,  not  exactly  that,  sir.  You  see,  there 
were  wars  and  revolutions  going  on,  as  there  always 
are  on  those  coasts,  and  the  old  man,  having  letters 
of  marque,  had  a  right  to  have  a  fist  in  things. 

"  In  those  times  out  there,  everybody  helps  them- 
selves to  every  one  else's  movables,  and,  of  course, 
if  you're  a  Protestant,  and  aren't  afraid  of  the 
Church,  well,  the  Church  has  the  most  — 

"  I  see,"  was  Gilbert's  comment.  "  And  you 
really  think  these  stones  are  real  ?  " 

"  And  how  could  she  have  been  the  most  famous 
Virgin  in  all  Brazil  if  they  weren't?"  was  the  in- 
dignant demand. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Gilbert  agreed,  slowly,  then 
turning  his  eyes  from  the  silver  woman  to  the  live 
one  who  faced  it,  he  asked : 

"  Well,  is  your  desire  for  the  romance  of  a  treas- 
ure-trove satisfied  ?  " 

Isabel's  face  had  been  intense  in  its  watchfulness 
of  him  during  Isaac's  talk,  but  she  now  answered 
with  a  smile: 

"  I  think  it  is  I  who  should  ask  if  you  are  sat- 
isfied. But  to  return  to  business.  Don't  you  think 
it  would  be  wise  to  get  your  treasure  safely  stowed 
away  before  any  of  the  men  about  should  see  it? 
It's  rather  a  valuable  thing  to  have  in  a  cottage." 

"  Tell  you  what,  sir,"  Isaac  put  in,  "  I  think  my 
mind  would  be  easier,  and  perhaps  yours,  too,  if 

101 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

you  were  to  sell  it  to  a  church.  I  fancy  she  might 
be  in  a  pleasanter  humour  toward  us,  if  she  were 
to  have  a  taste  of  candles  and  incense  again.  Dare 
say,  she's  been  homesick  for  them  long  enough. 
It  stands  to  reason !  " 

"  Well,  get  your  candles.  There  are  plenty 
down-stairs,  I  suppose.  As  for  incense,  Mrs. 
Broderick  has  some  joss-sticks,  I  know,"  was  the 
impatient  retort. 

"  No,  sir,  you  don't  catch  me  burning  them 
heathen  Chinese  things  —  I've  seen  them  in  Hong 
Kong  —  before  any  Christian  woman,  be  she  silver 
or  not,  but,  if  I  had  a  pinch  of  the  real  stuff  — 

"  Oh,  Isaac,  talk  about  women  —  you're  worse 
than  twenty  old  women." 

Isaac  sniffed  in  an  injured  manner,  but  answered, 
oracularly : 

"  Well,  sir,  I've  seen  a  sight  of  queer  things  in 
my  day,  and  you  haven't  done  with  that  there 
Virgin  yet,  remember !  "  Which  remark  seemed 
to  imply  that  he  expected  to  see  some  still  queerer 
things  shortly. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  later  when  Isaac  appeared 
one  evening  in  Gilbert's  den,  with  a  somewhat 
sheepish  air  veiled  by  an  extra  solemnity. 

"  It's  a  terrible  world  for  gossip,"  he  began, 
oracularly. 

"  What's  up  now?"  Gilbert  asked. 

"  Well,  I  was  down  to  La  Falaise  to-day  to  tfade 
at  the  store,  and  I  finds  that  the  people  there  had 
got  hold  of  the  story  of  our  finding  the  Virgin. 
Terrible  interested  they  were,  being  mostly  French 
and  Catholics.  I  had  a  hard  time  with  their  ques- 


102 


ISAAC  MEETS  AN  ACQUAINTANCE 

tions.  Somebody's  been  making  a  fool  of  them- 
selves, and  talking." 

"  That  seems  evident,"  Gilbert  agreed,  with  a 
strong  idea  as  to  who  the  somebody  was.  He  did 
not  show  how  annoyed  he  was  at  the  fact. 

He  was  very  sensitive  at  the  idea  of  being  a 
nine  days'  wonder  to  these  people,  who  knew  more 
of  his  family  than  he  did  himself. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  Isaac  went  on,  "  that  fel- 
low D'Arcy  is  round  the  roads  again.  He  held  up 
a  man  who  was  taking  down  the  week's  pay  to  the 
gold  mines  only  a  few  days  ago,  this  side  of  Mid- 
dleton." 

Gilbert  laughed.  "  He'd  find  the  lady  a  pretty 
solid  armful,  single-handed,  Isaac.  She  has  great 
passive  powers  of  resistance." 

"  Don't,  sir,  don't !  "  the  other  entreated,  ner- 
vously, then  going  on  with  his  ideas: 

"  Now  I  was  thinking,  suppose  that  you  were 
to  sail  up  with  her  to  Bridgewater,  and  get  her 
safe  in  the  bank  there." 

He  looked  hopefully  at  Gilbert,  who  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  away  for  long 
just  now.  I  will  tell  you  in  confidence  that  I  am 
not  at  all  satisfied  with  Mr.  Broderick's  condition. 
Higgins  has  just  been  in  to  report  a  more  restless 
day  than  usual,  and  the  nights  have  been  bad  lately. 
He  has  not  tried  to  paint  now  for  two  or  three  days, 
which  is  the  worst  sign  of  all." 

Isaac  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  She's  beginning  her  work,  sir.  For  the  Lord's 
sake,  get  her  out  of  here." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  man.  If  you  want  the 
103 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

thing   to   go,    you   must   take   it   yourself.      Why 
shouldn't  you  ?  " 

Isaac's  eyes  opened  in  alarm. 

"  Go  up  alone  in  the  boat  with  her  ?  No,  thank 
you,  sir." 

"  Then  you  want  me  to  do  what  you  are  afraid 
to  do  yourself.  That  doesn't  sound  like  you." 

At  this  taunt,  Isaac  looked  sheepish,  though  he 
persisted :  "  You  don't  believe  in  her.  I  do." 

But  Gilbert's  patience  was  exhausted. 

"  All  right.  Then  her  ladyship  will  have  to  stay 
where  she  is,  under  my  bed,"  he  said,  shortly. 

Perhaps  Isaac's  warning  had  taken  greater  hold 
upon  his  imagination  than  he  knew  at  the  time, 
for  that  night  he  certainly  felt  disinclined  for  bed, 
and  at  midnight  was  still  smoking,  down  on  his 
favourite  perch  of  a  pile  of  old  boards  on  the  end 
of  the  little  wharf. 

On  the  breathless  stillness  of  the  night,  there 
rang  out  a  sudden  clamour  of  shouts  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  studio,  and  Gilbert  sprang  up,  alert  to 
face  the  long-expected  crisis. 

But  even  in  the  clear  darkness,  he  could  see  that 
the  burly  figure  that  rushed  across  the  garden  and 
leaped  the  fence  was  neither  that  of  Broderick  nor 
of  his  keeper. 

But  what  was  that  strange  white  apparition,  with 
apparently  high-waving  wings,  that  pursued  the 
fugitive,  shouting  in  a  weird,  hoarse  voice :  "  I  am 
the  Archangel  Michael,  the  Wrath  and  the  Sword 
of  the  Lord!" 

Gilbert  was  already  close  enough  now  to  recog- 
nise Broderick  in  his  night-clothes,  waving  a  white 
sheet  in  great  sweeps  over  his  head. 

104 


ISAAC  MEETS  AN  ACQUAINTANCE 

"  He  cometh  as  a  thief  in  the  night !  Behold  I 
will  grind  him  and  scatter  him  abroad  as  chaff 
before  the  wind,"  the  strange  chant  went  on. 

Gilbert  was  beside  him  now,  though  his  voice 
seemed  to  have  none  of  its  usual  soothing  power, 
and,  at  the  first  restraining  grasp,  he  struggled 
violently,  so  that  it  took  all  the  other's  strength 
to  hold  him.  However,  the  keeper  had  been  in 
pursuit,  and  now,  coming  up  from  the  other  side, 
they  soon  between  them  got  the  poor  fellow  back 
to  his  room,  though  it  was  long  before  he  was 
really  quieted  down.  It  seemed  that  Higgins 
had  been  aroused  by  a  noise  in  the  studio,  and, 
going  out,  startled  the  intruder,  who  dropped 
a  lantern  and  fled. 

Broderick  must  have  been  awakened,  too,  and, 
coming  out  just  in  time  to  intercept  the  fugitive,  had 
attacked  him  with  a  sheet  and  with  verbal  weapons. 

"  Enough  to  frighten  ten  robbers  away.  He 
won't  ever  come  back  again,"  Higgins  chuckled, 
grimly. 

But  Gilbert  looked  very  grave. 

"  He's  done  more  harm  already  than  twenty 
robbers.  The  first  violent  fit  has  come,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  others  will  come,  too.  An  asy- 
lum's the  best  place  now,"  Higgins  agreed. 

The  house  had  been  roused,  and,  when  Gilbert 
could  turn  away  from  his  patient,  he  saw  Mrs. 
Broderick,  in  long,  white  dressing-gown,  waiting 
for  him  on  the  veranda. 

He  did  his  best  to  reassure  her,  though  he  could 
read  in  her  white  face  her  understanding  that  an- 
other step  on  the  via  dolorosa  had  been  taken. 

105 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

With  a  heartache  for  her,  he  turned  away,  only 
to  find  old  Isaac  leaning  against  the  fence. 

"  She's  waking  up,  sir;  she's  waking  up.  You'd 
best  get  her  to  Bridgewater  to-morrow." 

"  Get  her  there  yourself,  if  you  want  to,"  Gilbert 
retorted,  going  off  to  keep  a  night-watch  by  his  now 
sleeping  patient. 


106 


CHAPTER    XL 

GATHERING    CLOUDS 

THE  rest  of  the  night  passed  in  quietness, 
but,  when  Gilbert  returned  from  his  morn- 
ing bath,   it  did  not  need   the  attendant's 
gravely   significant   glance  to   warn   him   of   Bro- 
derick's  state. 

The  change  in  his  face  might  not  be  very  marked, 
but  it  was  all  the  same  unmistakable.  A  sullen 
gloom,  that  was  not  without  a  touch  of  fierceness, 
had  replaced  the  former  distressed  perplexity.  His 
restlessness  had  increased,  and,  seeming  to  have 
forgotten  his  work,  he  prowled  about  within  a 
certain  distance  of  the  house,  only  remaining  still 
when  there  was  some  one  for  him  to  watch. 

Mrs.  Broderick  had  been,  according  to  wont, 
sitting  on  the  veranda,  the  embroidery  which  had 
of  late  become  her  more  constant  companion,  in 
her  hands,  but,  as  though  the  sight  of  her  husband 
distressed  her,  she  had  wandered  off  across  the  pas- 
ture toward  the  woods. 

The  Swedish  nurse  was  sitting  sewing  down  at 
the  shore  near  where  Sam,  the  old  man's  grandson, 
was  coopering  at  his  boat;  and  Boyso  played  hap- 
pily near  his  greatest  joy,  a  little  fire  of  chips  lit 
under  the  tar-pot. 

107 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Smoking  his  pipe  at  a  distance,  Gilbert  saw  Bro- 
derick  hovering  nearer,  as  though  fascinated  by  the 
group,  and,  at  last,  seating  himself  on  a  log  on  the 
bank,  with  elbows  on  knees,  seemed  to  become  ab- 
sorbed in  watching  the  child's  play. 

The  peacefulness  of  the  scene  was  dominated 
by  the  gloom  of  that  one  brooding  figure,  and  to 
Gilbert  the  air  was  heavy  with  a  sense  of  approach- 
ing calamity. 

Comfort  himself  as  he  might  with  the  sight  of 
Higgins's  watchful  figure  close  at  hand,  with  the 
lusty  song  of  the  stalwart  French  cook,  as  he  gath- 
ered vegetables  in  the  garden,  he  would  have  now 
given  much  to  have  known  Broderick  safe  in  an 
asylum. 

He  was  beginning  to  reproach  himself  bitterly 
for  having  yielded  too  much  to  Isabel  Broderick's 
wishes  in  the  matter. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  and  Boyso  out  for  a 
sail,"  he  announced  to  her  after  lunch,  having  noted 
what  a  mere  pretence  at  eating  she  had  made. 

"  Have  we  no  choice  in  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  poor  attempt  at  gaiety  that  wrung  his  heart. 

"  None.     You  have  only  to  obey." 

There  was  the  life  of  the  sea  in  the  south-west 
wind,  and,  although  she  was  very  silent,  Gilbert 
saw  a  certain  restfulness  come  over  her  face,  as 
she  leaned  back  on  her  cushions  with  the  boy  hud- 
dled up  against  her,  keeping  up  the  sweet-voiced 
chatter  that  reminded  him  of  the  daylight  sounds 
from  a  nestful  of  birds. 

Out  toward  the  open  bay  they  tacked,  and,  with 
that  sensation  of  freedom  that  going  seaward  al- 
ways gives,  Gilbert  felt  a  mad  desire  to  sail  away 

108 


GATHERING    CLOUDS 

with  her  and  the  child  from  that  trouble  that 
awaited  them  on  the  shore. 

But  no,  the  wind  was  getting  lighter,  and  they 
must  turn  and  run  up  before  it  fell  with  the  sunset. 

"  Going  home  to  daddy !  Going  home  to 
daddy!"  the  child  sung,  gleefully,  in  unconscious 
mockery  of  their  forebodings,  as  the  little  craft 
drew  in  toward  the  landing. 

Gilbert  had  already  sent  a  comprehensive  glance 
around,  but  could  see  nothing  of  Broderick,  of  any 
one,  in  fact,  save  Isaac,  who  was  hanging  about 
the  boats  in  his  usual  casual  fashion. 

He  came  forward  to  help  Mrs.  Broderick  and 
to  lift  the  boy  out,  and  then,  after  watching  them, 
as  they  went  hand  in  hand  up  the  path,  he  turned 
to  Gilbert. 

"  There's  been  trouble  up  there,  sir,"  he  said, 
jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder. 

"What?"  the  other  asked,  sharply,  looking  up 
from  furling  the  sail.  He  was  out  on  the  shore  in 
a  moment,  listening  to  Isaac's  tale. 

It  seemed  that  Broderick,  after  the  boat  left, 
had  been  walking  up  and  down  in  front  of  his 
studio,  while  Higgins,  at  a  little  distance,  chatted 
with  Isaac,  when  he  had  slipped  inside  so  quietly 
that  it  was  a  few  moments  before  they  noticed  he 
was  gone.  A  crash  within  took  Higgins  to  the 
studio  door,  only  to  see  the  big  picture  thrown  from 
its  easel,  the  framework  smashed,  and  the  canvas 
hanging  in  long  strips,  at  which  the  artist  was 
still  cutting  wildly  with  the  one  small,  dull  palette 
knife  that  he  was  allowed  to  possess. 

"  It  could  never  really  hurt  any  one;  it  is  so 
flimsy,"  Isabel  had  pleaded ;  but  it  was  strong 

109 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

enough  now  to  hack  and  rend  the  dark  fields  of 
poppies,  the  glowing  hillside  of  lilies. 

When  Higgins  had  caught  his  arm,  saying :  "  I 
wouldn't  do  that,  sir,  if  I  were  you,"  he  had 
shouted,  wildly: 

"  If  I  create  them,  I  give  them  a  soul ;  and,  if  I 
give  them  a  soul,  and  that  soul  is  lost,  mine  must 
pay  a  hundredfold  tribute  of  woe !  woe !  " 

By  the  time  that  Isaac  had  got  this  far  in  his 
story,  Gilbert  was  striding  up  the  bank.  He  had 
seen  Mrs.  Broderick  standing  in  the  studio  door, 
and  the  sight  drew  him  like  a  magnet. 

She  looked  round  silently  as  he  came  behind 
her,  and  he  saw  that  the  slow  tears  were  rolling 
unchecked  down  her  face. 

With  a  motion  of  her  hand,  she  drew  his  atten- 
tion to  the  room  before  them.  Scattered  over  the 
floor,  among  the  overturned  paint-box  and  palette, 
were  fragments  of  the  canvas  that  had  formed  a 
masterpiece;  here  and  there  familiar  bits  of  colour 
still  showing  intact  in  their  beauty. 

On  the  sofa  at  the  further  end  lay  Broderick, 
sleeping  peacefully,  a  shadowy  smile  on  his  pale 
face,  the  tumbled  hair  that  hung  over  his  eyes  giv- 
ing him  a  boyish  look. 

It  was  a  pitiful  enough  sight,  and  Gilbert  felt 
a  choking  in  his  own  throat  as  he  looked. 

"  The  artist  is  gone,  and  next  the  man  will  go," 
he  heard  in  a  murmur  beside  him. 

He  turned  and  was  about  to  attempt  some  words 
of  comfort,  when,  pushing  aside  Isabel's  skirts, 
Boyso  poked  his  head  into  the  studio. 

At  the  tempestuous  aspect  of  the  place,  he  gave 
a  joyous  crow,  and,  with  a  sudden  rush,  was  across 

110 


GATHERING    CLOUDS 

the  room  in  spite  of  Gilbert's  effort  to  seize  him, 
shouting : 

"  Daddy,  wake  up !  Wake  up  and  play  with 
Boyso!" 

Isabel  rushed  forward,  but  before  she  could  reach 
the  sofa,  Broderick  had  started  up,  and  caught  the 
child  in  his  arms  with  a  wild  cry: 

"  My  boy !  My  boy !  Destined  to  bear  all  my 
sin  and  sorrow !  Destined  to  eternal  fire !  " 

The  last  words  rose  to  a  scream,  and  the  terrified 
child  struggled  and  added  his  cries  to  the  tumult. 

While  Gilbert  hesitated  as  to  what  to  do,  Isabel's 
clear  tones  made  themselves  heard : 

"  Andrew,  you  had  better  give  him  to  me.  Come, 
Boyso,  come  to  mummie." 

Her  spell  worked,  and,  without  opposition,  her 
husband  let  her  take  the  child  in  her  arms  and 
carry  him  off,  soothing  him  as  she  went. 

Broderick  sat  staring  after  her  in  a  pathetically 
bewildered  fashion,  and,  when  Higgins  had  closed 
the  door  upon  her.  huddled  himself  together  again 
into  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  a  picture  of  stolid 
misery. 

That  night  Gilbert  took  his  dinner  alone,  being 
told  that  Mrs.  Broderick  was  having  hers  in  the 
nursery,  but  later  he  found  her  in  her  usual  seat 
in  the  veranda. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  down  on  the  sand- 
bar? There  always  seems  more  air  there,"  he 
suggested. 

"  No,  I  would  rather  not  go  so  far.  The  nurse 
is  sitting  with  Boyso  now,  but  I  told  her  to  call 
me  if  he  should  awake  restless  or  frightened.  It 


111 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

took  me  a  little  while  to  soothe  him  to  sleep,"  was 
her  quiet  answer. 

This  quietness  reassured  him  to  go  on,  though 
it  was  with  misgivings  that  he  asked: 

"  Will  it  worry  you  to  speak  of  what  must  be 
done?" 

"  No,  I  know,"  she  all  but  whispered. 

"  You  know  that  your  boy  must  be  sent  away 
at  once,  either  with  you  or  without,  as  you  shall 
choose." 

"  Yes,"  came  with  a  little  catch  of  her  breath. 

"  Will  you  let  me  give  you  the  earnest  advice  that 
you  should  go,  too  ?  "  he  said,  leaning  nearer  in 
his  intentness,  the  words  seeming  to  frame  his  own 
doom  as  he  spoke  them. 

"  Then  you  think  that  it  is  coming  soon  ?  "  and 
the  hitherto  concealed  horror  sounded  in  her  voice. 

For  the  first  time,  Gilbert  realised  that,  beside 
her  beautiful  pity  for  the  man,  there  could  be  a 
personal  shrinking  from  the  maniac,  and  the  fact 
added  to  his  determination  to  get  her  away  from 
her  husband. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  cautiously,  "  these  two  out- 
bursts show  that,  even  with  the  most  careful  watch- 
ing, he  is  likely  at  any  time  to  do  something  that 
might  give  the  child  a  severe  nervous  shock,  not  to 
speak  of  the  same  danger  for  yourself." 

He  paused  to  let  his  words  take  effect,  and  then 
made  his  demand.  "  Will  you  let  me  telegraph 
for  two  experienced  men,  to  help  me  get  him  back 
as  soon  as  possible  to  Boston  ?  " 

"To  the  asylum?" 

"  Yes,"  he  acknowledged,  waiting  for  her  de- 
cision. 

112 


GATHERING    CLOUDS 

But  it  was  not  to  come  just  yet. 

"  Would  he  be  well  enough  to  understand  what 
you  were  doing  ?  "  was  her  question. 

"  Perhaps  so,  at  times.     But  —  ' 

She  interrupted  him,  following  out  her  own  line 
of  thought: 

"  And  if  I  were  to  send  the  child  home  with  his 
nurse,  you  do  not  fear  danger  to  any  one  else  here  ?  " 

Gilbert  saw  that  he  was  losing  his  battle,  and, 
ashamed  at  the  sudden  fierce  throb  of  joy  in  her 
continued  presence,  he  spoke  with  grave  self-re- 
pression : 

"  Not  absolute  danger,  I  suppose,  if  we  keep  a 
more  careful  watch  on  him,  and  get  another  keeper 
to  relieve  guard.  We  are  four  men  here  already, 
you  know,  counting  Isaac,  and  that  Swedish  woman 
is  as  strong  as  a  man.  I  saw  her  turn  a  boat  over 
by  herself,  the  other  day.  However,  she,  of  course, 
would  go  with  Boyso." 

"  Then  I  am  still  free  to  choose  between  husband 
and  child  ?  "  she  asked,  with  repressed  bitterness. 

"  In  one  way  you  may  be,  though  I  think  it  right 
to  warn  you  that,  if  only  for  your  child's  sake,  you 
have  no  right  to  risk  the  mental  and  physical  harm 
that  such  a  strain  may  entail  on  you.  Come,"  he 
went  on  with  kindly  authoritativeness,  "  make  up 
your  mind  that  the  time  has  come  when  you  must 
consider  yourself  and  the  child  first.  You  have 
already  done  more  than  one  woman  out  of  a  hun- 
dred would  have  done  —  " 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know !  You  do  not  know !  " 
she  broke  in  with  a  cry  of  irrepressible  pain,  that 
puzzled  him  with  its  echo  of  self-reproach. 

Of  all  wives  in  the  world  what  could  she  have  to 
113 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

reproach  herself  with,  unless  —  but  he  would  not 
put  the  overpowering  thought  into  form.  He 
only  knew  that  he  was  her  knight-errant,  bound  to 
absolutely  loyal  service.  As  though  repenting  her 
outbreak,  she  rose,  saying  quietly  : 

"  There  can  be  nothing  gained  by  deciding  it  to- 
night. You  shall  know  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing," and  without  further  parting,  was  gone. 


114 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE   SWORD   OF   DAMOCLES 

THE  sparkling  beauty  of  the  June  morning 
seemed  to  mock  at  the  restless  human 
misery  that  it  encompassed. 

After  having  kept  watch  for  half  the  night,  Gil- 
bert had  gone  down  early  for  his  swim,  getting  new 
energy  from  the  crisp  wavelets  of  the  rising  tide. 

There  seemed  to  be  mental  as  well  as  physical 
tonic  in  the  healing  waters  of  the  great  ocean,  for 
the  surging  thoughts  of  passion,  against  which  he 
had  struggled  through  the  hours  of  darkness,  were 
stilled,  and  he  went  back  to  the  house  able  to  bear 
himself  like  a  man,  to  fight  the  good  fight  for  those 
weaker  than  himself. 

Early  as  it  was,  he  found  Isabel  and  her  boy  at 
breakfast,  and  one  glance  at  her  face,  serene 
through  all  its  traces  of  past  conflict,  told  him  that 
she  too  had  fought  and  conquered. 

In  after  years,  that  picture  of  her  never  lost  its 
clearness  in  his  mental  vision.  He  saw  the  pallor 
of  her  face,  framed  in  her  loose  hair,  against  the  dead 
white  of  her  duck  dress.  He  saw  the  shadowy 
smile  that  answered  the  child's  prattling,  even 
while  her  hungry  eyes  never  left  his  face.  It  was 
the  hunger  in  those  eyes  which  revealed  to  him  her 

115 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

decision,  even  before,  the  sweet  daily  intimacy  of 
their  meal  ended,  she  came  toward  him  on  the 
veranda.  The  dewy  fragrance  from  the  mignonette 
in  the  homely  garden,  the  morning  song  of  the 
robins  amongst  the  apple  blossoms,  the  flashing  sun- 
track  on  the  water,  all  told  of  the  joy  of  nature's 
high-tide  of  life.  In  the  woman's  face  alone  was 
the  austere  light  of  renunciation. 

"  I  have  decided,"  she  began  at  once,  with  that 
same  self-control.  "  I  shall  send  Boyso  off  with 
his  nurse  in  the  steamer  to-morrow.  She  shall  take 
him  to  his  grandmother." 

She  herself  would  stay,  then,  was  his  first 
thought,  crushed  down  by  the  remembrance  of  the 
harm  that  doing  so  might  work  her. 

"  And  what  if  I  refuse  to  agree  to  it  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  sudden  impulse  to  ensure  her  safety  at  any 
cost. 

She  smiled  securely.  "  You  will  not  do  that. 
You  acknowledged  last  night  that  it  was  possible 
for  me  to  remain,  and  I  take  you  at  your  word." 

"  It  may  be  possible,  but  still  very  undesirable," 
he  persisted.  "  However,  in  yielding  as  to  the 
present  possibility,  it  is  with  the  proviso  that  any 
day  I  should  insist  on  your  leaving,  you  will  go  at 
once.  Will  you  agree  to  this  ?  " 

For  a  moment  her  eyes  searched  his,  then,  as 
though  content  with  what  they  had  found  there, 
she  said,  softly: 

"  What  could  I  do  but  obey  you,  when  I  trust 
you  so  absolutely  ?  " 

He  could  not  help  it.  He  took  the  slim  artist 
hand  in  his,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  then,  already 
ashamed  of  the  impulse,  turned  away  and  went 

116 


THE   SWORD  OF  DAMOCLES 

down  to  the  shore.  Isaac  was  hovering  about  his 
boat,  evidently  preparing  to  embark. 

"Going  fishing?"  Gilbert  asked,  listlessly. 

"  Just  going  to  have  a  look  at  the  lobster-pots. 
Thought  I'd  take  the  child  along,  if  you  don't  ob- 
ject. Looks  kind  of  peeky  this  morning." 

The  old  man  liked  to  make  an  excuse  that  put 
Boyso's  companionship  on  a  charitable  basis,  evi- 
dently considering  it  a  weakness  to  acknowledge 
it  as  a  pleasure  to  himself. 

"  You'd  better  not,  I  think.  His  mother  will 
want  him  with  her  to-day,  for  she's  sending  him 
home  to-morrow." 

"  That's  one  comfort,"  Isaac  grunted,  emphati- 
cally. "  This  ain't  no  place  for  a  child,  with  trouble 
coming  thick  as  a  thunder-storm.  Tell  you  what, 
it's  plain  to  any  fool  that  there  ain't  no  luck  in  the 
house,  or  else,  what  there  is  is  precious  bad  luck. 
And  for  why  ?  "  hammering  his  hand  vigorously 
against  the  gunwale  of  the  boat.  "  Because  it 
stands  to  reason  that,  with  that  there  Virgin  —  " 

"  Look  here,  Isaac,  I'm  in  no  humour  to  stand 
any  more  old  wives'  tales,"  Gilbert  interrupted, 
and,  deeply  offended,  the  old  man  shoved  off  his 
boat,  and  paddled  down  along  the  shore. 

All  the  morning,  Gilbert  never  went  very  far 
out  of  sight  of  the  studio,  where  Broderick  seemed 
content  to  remain.  The  damage  to  his  painting 
materials  had  been  repaired,  and,  for  the  first  time 
in  several  days,  he  seemed  to  care  to  work. 

"  A  good  sign,"  Gilbert  said,  hopefully,  to  Hig- 
gins  outside  the  door. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir.    Just  take  a  look 

117 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

at  them  cheerful  kind  of  things  he's  paintin',"  was 
the  pessimistic  retort. 

True  enough,  when  Gilbert  stood  looking  over 
the  artist's  shoulder,  he  felt  a  chill  at  what  he  saw. 

On  the  smaller  canvas,  which  had  replaced  the 
hapless  poppies,  were  wild  streaks  of  colour  seem- 
ingly representing  clouds,  through  which  peered 
out  lurid,  boding  heads,  faces  full  of  Satanic  mock- 
ery or  rage,  and  arms  outstretched  to  seize  their 
prey. 

Only  in  one  corner  of  the  sketch  was  any  at- 
tempt at  connected  composition,  and  this,  it  seemed 
to  Gilbert,  was  a  rough  but  vigorous  suggestion 
of  the  sacrifice  of  Isaac  by  Abraham.  The  few 
touches  that  represented  the  victim  contained  an 
evident  likeness  to  Boyso,  as  did  the  angel  hovering 
above  to  Isabel. 

Pondering  deeply  over  these  workings  of  the  dis- 
ordered mind,  Gilbert  turned  away,  leaving  Bro- 
derick  undisturbed. 

It  was  some  days  since  the  latter  had  joined  them 
at  their  meals,  although  his  place  was  always  kept 
for  him.  To-day  they  had  taken  their  seats,  when 
to  the  surprise  of  both,  he  quietly  slipped  in  and 
sat  down. 

"  Daddy's  come  to  dinner !  Daddy's  hungry !  " 
lisped  the  child,  while  his  mother  exchanged  a 
startled  glance  with  Gilbert. 

He  nodded  reassuringly,  for  he  had  been  quick 
to  see  that  a  calmer  spirit  had  prevailed  with  Bro- 
derick.  His  blue  eyes  were  again  dreamily  vague, 
though,  once  or  twice,  Gilbert  did  notice  the  side- 
long glance  at  the  child,  that  had  before  now  made 
him  uneasy. 

118 


THE   SWORD  OF  DAMOCLES 

He  seemed  to  listen,  too,  when  Boyso  spoke, 
though  otherwise  wrapped  in  his  own  realm  of 
shadows. 

Higgins  had  followed  him  in,  and  waited  behind 
his  chair,  and,  according  to  his  ubiquitous  habit, 
the  French  cook  came  and  went  between  the  side- 
board and  the  neighbouring  kitchen. 

There  was  certainly  plenty  of  help  at  hand,  even 
if  Gilbert  had  not  believed  there  to  be  a  temporary 
improvement  in  his  condition,  and  that,  for  the 
present,  there  would  be  no  more  trouble. 

It  was  not  a  cheerful  meal,  and  Isabel  gave  a 
quick  little  sigh  of  relief  when  her  husband  rose 
and  went  out  as  quietly  as  he  had  come  in. 

She  looked  over  appealingly  at  Gilbert,  who 
hastened  to  answer  her  mute  question. 

"  Yes,  he  is  certainly  better  for  the  time  being. 
How  long  it  may  last  I  cannot  say,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  we  need  fear  any  more  trouble  for  the 
next  few  days." 

"  Thank  God  for  that ! "  she  murmured  with 
tremulous  lips,  and  he  saw  that  the  coffee-cup  she 
held  shook  in  her  hand. 

"  You  are  played  out,"  he  said,  quickly ;  "  here, 
let  me  put  this  hammock-chair  where  you  will  get 
the  breeze,  and  this  cushion  under  your  head,  so." 

Silently  she  drooped  back,  with  closed  lids,  from 
under  which  the  tears  fell  one  by  one. 

The  child's  prattle  sounded  up  from  the  beach 
where  he  played  beside  his  nurse,  and  they  were 
alone.  She  let  her  self-control  fall  from  her  as 
she  might  have  dropped  an  unnecessary  wrap,  and 
Gilbert  felt  the  painful  joy  that  she  should  trust 
him  in  her  weakness. 

119 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"Willyou  tell  me  if  you  slept  last  night?"  he 
asked  presently,  and  she  answered  him  with  a  silent 
shake  of  her  head. 

"  Then  won't  you  try  to  rest  in  your  darkened 
room  now  ?  "  he  urged,  gently.  "  See,  everything 
is  so  quiet  and  peaceful,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
make  you  anxious.  I  think  you  would  sleep." 

"  Nothing !  "  she  echoed,  but  still  she  rose  obedi- 
ently, and  went  up-stairs. 

Over  indoors  and  out  settled  the  afternoon  quiet, 
and  under  its  spell  Gilbert  presently  found  that  he 
had  been  dozing  in  the  hammock-chair.  He,  too, 
had  felt  the  strain  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours. 

But  he  shook  off  the  pleasant  lassitude,  and  stood 
up  with  a  sense  of  work  to  be  done.  Before  the 
evening  he  must  have  a  letter  ready  to  send  over 
to  catch  the  coach  at  La  Falaise. 

He  went  off  to  his  den,  passing  Broderick  and 
his  keeper  sitting  on  a  bench  under  an  apple-tree 
not  far  from  the  house.  There  he  settled  himself 
to  write  a  full  professional  account  of  the  case  to 
his  Boston  colleague,  asking  him  to  wire  back  an 
opinion  as  to  whether  the  time  had  not  come  when 
they  must  insist  upon  the  immediate  security  of 
an  asylum. 

The  letter  was  not  one  to  be  written  in  a  hurry, 
as  it  entailed  a  frequent  reference  to  his  daily  notes, 
but  it  was  finished  at  last,  and,  leaning  back  in  his 
high  chair,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  lazily,  think- 
ing to  himself  that  he  would  take  a  survey  of  his 
domains,  to  determine  if  he  might  absent  himself 
for  an  hour's  sail.  The  breeze  on  the  water  would 
blow  away  this  lassitude. 

"  Judging  from  the  silence,  it  might  be  the  castle 
120 


THE   SWORD  OF  DAMOCLES 

of  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  Even  the  cocks  and  hens 
seem  to  have  forgotten  to  cackle,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  stood  in  the  open  doorway,  lighting  a 
pipe. 

Even  as  he  said  it,  the  air  seemed  rent  by  a  long, 
shrilly  piercing  scream,  —  a  scream  that  was  the 
wail  of  a  passing  life,  and  that  left  behind  it  the 
silence  of  death. 

It  brought  a  creeping  horror  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair,  and  an  icy  sweat  to  his  face,  as  he  knew  that 
his  worst  forebodings  were  realised. 

"  Isabel !  It  will  kill  her,  too !  "  he  heard  himself 
groaning,  as,  with  the  instinctive  sense  of  the  shore 
being  the  scene  of  action,  he  rushed  past  the  house. 
He  saw  the  stalwart  Swedish  nurse  fleeing  down  the 
pathway  between  the  apple-trees,  and  the  sight  told 
him  that  the  child  had  been  without  her  protection. 

A  wailing  cry  of  "  Gilbert "  from  an  up-stairs 
window  only  hastened  his  desperate  speed.  He 
must,  at  any  rate,  get  there  before  she  did. 

And  then,  as  the  little  wharf  came  in  view,  the 
full  horror  burst  upon  him.  At  its  very  end  lay 
the  child  on  its  back,  while  over  it  knelt  Broderick, 
one  arm  raised  high,  the  hand  grasping  —  God ! 
it  was  one  of  the  sailors'  sheath-knives,  about  which 
Gilbert  had  already  warned  Isaac  and  his  grandson. 

But  now  the  nurse  had  reached  Broderick,  pin- 
ioning him  from  behind  with  her  strong  arms,  and 
a  second  later,  Higgins  scrambling  up  from  the 
beach,  they  had  him  securely  in  their  grasp. 

Then  Gilbert,  unheeding  their  struggles,  found 
himself  kneeling  by  that  sickeningly  limp  little  fig- 
ure, whose  story  was  told  by  the  red  stream  stain- 
ing the  front  of  the  dainty  white  dress.  The  first 

121 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

touch,  the  first  look  convinced  him  that  life  was 
gone,  and  yet  he  still  knelt,  trying  to  stanch  the 
blood,  feeling  the  poor  little  body,  that  looked  so 
pitifully  small,  for  any  last  throb  of  life  that  might 
be  coaxed  back  into  action.  Some  subtle  conscious- 
ness made  him  raise  his  head  to  see  the  swift  rush  of 
Isabel  toward  him. 

"  Go  back !  Go  back !  "  he  shouted.  "  For  God's 
sake  keep  her  back !  "  but  there  was  no  one  to  do 
so.  and  her  feet  were  already  on  the  wharf,  as  he 
sprang  up  to  come  between  her  and  that  still,  white 
figure.  He  saw  her  sway  forward,  with  outstretched 
arms,  before  she  fell  her  full  length  toward  him, 
and  lay  as  still  as  did  her  child. 


122 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SEPARATE    PATHS 

FEW  of  the  passengers  by  the  next  weekly 
boat  from  Halifax  to  Boston  knew  that  they 
carried  a  child's  coffin  in  one  locked  cabin, 
and  in  another  a  lunatic,  carefully  guarded  by  four 
men.  Lunatics  and  coffins,  not  being  popular  at 
sea,  are  generally  kept  as  much  in  the  background 
as  possible. 

It  being  perfect  summer  weather,  when  even  that 
treacherous  corner  of  the  Atlantic  was  behaving 
itself,  the  passengers  did  notice  the  distinguished- 
looking  woman,  who  sat  so  still  in  a  secluded  corner 
of  the  deck,  cared  for  so  assiduously  by  a  young 
man  of  somewhat  haggard  aspect. 

"  Wonder  if  he's  her  husband?  "  said  one  young 
woman  to  another. 

"  She  doesn't  treat  him  over  civilly,  if  he  is. 
She  has  hardly  answered  him,  or  even  looked  at 
him  once  that  I've  seen.  She  looks  as  sulky  as  a 
bear." 

"  And  he  such  a  nice-looking  fellow,  too.  But 
I  tell  you  what.  I  think  there's  something  wrong 
with  her  mind,  or  else  why  should  they  have  that 
great  strong  Swedish  woman  taking  care  of  her. 

123 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

No,  I'm  sure  she's  weak  in  her  head.  They  must 
be  swells,  too,"  she  added,  regretfully. 

In  the  distress  of  those  days,  Gilbert  was  almost 
inclined  to  the  girl's  opinion,  as  each  day's  dura- 
tion of  her  unnatural  calm  seemed  to  increase  the 
chance  of  Isabel's  mind  never  recovering  from  the 
awful  shock. 

It  was  the  night  before  they  were  to  land,  —  a 
moonlight  night  when  the  surface  of  the  sea  was 
absolutely  calm,  rising  and  falling  to  the  long  curves 
of  some  far-distant  tumult. 

Isabel  had  refused  to  leave  her  hammock-chair 
for  her  cabin,  and,  as  the  hour  grew  late,  and  the 
decks  were  deserted,  Gilbert  sat  beside  her,  sharing 
her  vigil.  His  thoughts  were  too  full  of  unselfish 
anxiety  on  her  behalf  for  him  to  realise  that  these 
were  the  last  hours  of  their  life  of  daily  intimacy. 
It  had  grown  to  seem  to  him  a  natural  thing  that 
must  perforce  go  on  for  ever. 

His  one  desire  now  was  to  make  her  talk,  to 
break  up  at  any  cost  that  stupefied  stillness  that 
might  be  working  such  havoc  on  her  brain. 

"You  will  go  at  once  to  your  own  house?  I 
telegraphed  to  have  it  got  ready,  you  know,"  he 
asked. 

For  a  moment  she  moved  her  bare  hand  mechan- 
ically backward  and  forward  on  her  knee,  with 
that  apparent  dislike  of  being  spoken  to,  which  he 
had  before  noticed,  then  she  answered,  in  a  listless 
murmur :  "  I  suppose  so.  It  doesn't  much  matter 
where." 

With  a  sudden  change  to  startled  horror,  she 
turned  to  him,  asking: 

"He  wouldn't  be  brought  there,  would  he?" 


SEPARATE    PATHS 

"  No,  no ;  you  must  not  think  about  that.  We 
shall  take  him  direct  to  the  asylum." 

He  soothed  her  as  he  might  have  done  a  fright- 
ened child,  and,  with  the  reassurance,  she  shrank 
back  again  into  herself,  staring  out  intensely  along 
the  moonlight  track  on  the  water. 

"  Is  there  any  one,  any  woman,  whom  you  would 
like  me  to  send  for  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  No  one,  thank  you." 

"  But  your  husband's  mother  will  surely  come?  " 

Again  the  startled  turn  of  the  head,  as  she  said, 
quickly :  "  I  hope  not.  Why  should  she  ?  " 

"  She  would  want  to,  I  think,"  he  said,  shrink- 
ing from  referring  more  openly  to  the  funeral. 
Even  this  seemed  to  agitate  her. 

"  I  am  sure  that  she  must  hate  me,"  came  in 
distressed  tones.  "  But  for  my  obstinacy,  her 
grandchild  would  still  be  left.  I  wronged  her  son 
in  marrying  him  without  love,  and  she  always  knew 
it.  When  we  first  met  in  Paris,  after  I  was  en- 
gaged to  him,  she  warned  me  against  the  insanity 
in  the  family,  and  I  would  not  listen  to  her.  She 
is  a  hard,  honest  woman.  How  could  she  forgive 
me  now  ?  " 

Gilbert,  seeing  that  speech  must  come  to  the  over- 
burdened heart,  went  on : 

"  You  must  not  forget  that  there  is  cause  for 
thankfulness  in  knowing  that  your  child  can  never 
share  its  father's  fate." 

He  had  roused  her  now  effectually.  With  a 
strange  cry  and  wave  of  her  hands,  she  broke  out: 

"  And  so  I  doubly  murdered  him,  my  boy,  my 
own  little  boy !  I  gave  him  that  nature,  which  was 
a  wrong  to  him!  I  failed  to  protect  him  from  the 

126 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

man  who  was  his  father!     How  can  I  bear  to  live 
on,  with  such  a  curse  upon  me !  " 

Before  Gilbert  could  guess  at  what  she  was 
about  to  do,  she  had  sprung  up,  and  hovered,  with 
upraised  arms,  near  the  rail.  Like  a  flash  he  was 
upon  her,  with  his  arms  wound  around  her,  press- 
ing her  struggling  figure  close  to  him. 

All  at  once  he  felt  its  rigidity  relax,  felt  its 
weight  heavier,  and,  loosening  his  grip,  saw  the 
helpless  head  fall  back  against  his  shoulder. 

In  the  keen  ache  of  his  sympathy,  it  was  almost 
a  relief  to  see  the  wan  face  soften  into  peace, 
the  weary  lids  close,  and  to  know  that  for  a  time 
she  was  unconscious  of  her  sorrow. 

For  the  last  hours  of  their  journey,  she  was  like 
a  sweet,  sorrowful  child,  doing  what  he  asked  her 
to  do,  but  otherwise  lying  still  with  closed  eyelids, 
through  which  a  slow  tear  occasionally  welled. 

The  hard,  strained  look  was  gone,  and  Gilbert 
feared  no  longer  for  her  mind.  All  the  more,  per- 
haps, was  the  sense  of  personal  loss  heavy  upon  him, 
as  he  stood  in  the  freshness  of  the  June  morning, 
watching  the  closed  carriage  that  contained  Isabel, 
her  maid,  and  family  doctor  drive  away  from  the 
wharf.  Henceforth,  he  knew  that  he  must  learn 
to  stand  outside  her  life,  though  even  yet  he  did 
not  realise  how  thorough  their  separation  must  be. 
Those  long,  quiet  days  of  shared  anxiety  and  com- 
panionship had  made  them  too  much  and  too  little 
for  the  continuance  of  an  ordinary  friendship.  He 
knew  that  his  wisest  course  would  have  been  to  start 
at  once  on  a  visit  to  his  mother,  but  he  could  not 
tear  himself  away  before  the  child's  funeral,  which 
Isabel  was  not  able  to  attend. 

126 


SEPARATE    PATHS 

He  hung  on  the  words  of  the  family  doctor,  who 
talked  of  prostration  against  which  a  strong  phy- 
sique was  righting. 

"  Splendid  type,  splendid  type!  Wish  there  were 
more  American  women  like  her,"  the  old  man  said, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

A  week  passed,  a  week  during  which  Gilbert 
received  the  handsome  cheque  for  his  services, 
which,  to  his  fancy,  seemed  to  put  him  at  a  still 
farther  distance.  Then,  his  sense  of  loss  prevailing 
over  sterner  wisdom,  he  wrote  her  a  note,  asking 
if  he  might  see  her  before  going  to  his  mother 
in  Canada. 

The  answer  contained  only  a  few  words,  saying 
that  she  would  see  him  the  next  day. 

The  afternoon  heat  lay  heavily  upon  the  city 
street,  but  could  not  reach  the  cool,  shaded  room, 
that  he  remembered  so  well  in  the  winter  twilight, 
the  early  spring  sunshine. 

There  was  no  scent  of  flowers  there  now,  and 
no  sunshine;  only  the  soft  light  from  the  creamy 
silk  blinds  seemed  in  pity  to  encompass  the  tall 
black  figure  that  rose  to  receive  him. 

Something  choked  him  as  he  looked  into  the 
woe-ravaged  face,  as  he  held  the  thin  hand  in  his, 
but,  when  she  spoke,  he  knew  that  there  was  upon 
her  a  force  of  self-repression  that  he  must  not  dis- 
turb, and  that  no  words  of  sympathy  were  to  be 
spoken. 

"  You  are  going  away?  "  she  asked,  almost  care- 
lessly. 

"  Only  for  a  week  or  two,  but  I  thought  that 
you  might  be  out  of  town  when  I  return.  You  are 
not  going  to  stay  on  here?" 

127 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  stay  on  here,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  little  smile,  then,  as  though  trying 
to  show  an  interest  in  his  affairs :  "  You  are  going 
to  see  your  mother  about  the  legacy,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  chilled  by  her 
manner. 

"  And  where  is  Isaac's  *  Lady  '  now  ?  " 

"  At  the  bank.  Let  us  hope  they  are  not  aware 
of  her  bad  character,"  and  he  laughed,  shortly. 

He  was  amazed  to  see  her  wince  at  his  words. 

"  Don't,  please !  We,  at  least,  have  no  reason  to 
scoff  at  her  powers  of  bringing  misfortune." 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  answered,  with  a  quick  com- 
punction. 

"  Yes,  I  am  to  see  Mr.  Salmon,  the  famous  col- 
lector, to-morrow.  I  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to 
find  out  the  value  of  the  thing,  to  get  an  idea  as 
to  what  connoisseurs  think  of  it,  before  I  see  my 
mother.  That  is  all  that  I  can  do,  for  I  may,  after 
all,  find  that  there  is  some  real  reason  against  my 
doing  anything  about  the  will." 

"  Don't  be  rash !  "  she  warned  him.  "  Remem- 
ber what  I  said  about  money." 

"  And  you  still  say  it  ?  "  he  asked,  thinking  only 
of  his  own  affairs,  and  with  the  masculine  dislike 
of  hearing  his  ideal  object  give  utterance  to  any 
materialistic  sentiment.  The  effect  of  his  words 
was  alarming.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that  she 
had  fainted,  as  she  cowered  back  into  the  corner 
among  the  cushions,  hiding  her  face  in  her  out- 
stretched arms. 

"  What  an  idiotic  brute  I  am !  "  he  ejaculated, 
savagely,  but  unheeding  him,  she  moaned: 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  I  take  back  all  that  I  said  that 
128 


day!  Better  to  be  a  pauper,  than  to  be  crushed 
by  the  weight  of  shameful  wrong-doing,  as  I  am 
now." 

He  could  not  help  it,  he  was  on  his  knees  beside 
her,  holding  her  hand  in  his,  pouring  out  protes- 
tations that  never  woman  had  acted  with  higher 
or  more  unselfish  devotion  than  she  had  done. 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  interrupt  him,  and 
then  she  drew  her  hand  away,  the  movement  recall- 
ing him  to  himself. 

"  Forgive  me!  "  he  stammered,  bitterly  ashamed 
of  his  want  of  self-control. 

"  I  had  better  go,"  he  added,  as  they  stood  facing 
each  other,  and  her  whispered  "  yes  "  was  hardly 
audible. 

"  You  will  let  me  come  when  I  return ;  you  will 
not  banish  me  for  this?"  he  asked,  desperately. 

"  I  shall  be  gone,"  she  said,  softly. 

"Gone?" 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  gone  before  you  return,"  she 
repeated,  with  greater  confidence.  "  I  am  letting  the 
house,  going  abroad  somewhere;  it  doesn't  much 
matter  where;  back  to  the  old  artist  haunts,  most 
likely.  Perhaps  I  can  work  there ;  perhaps,  in  time, 
forget." 

"Not  everything?"  he  urged. 

Her  eyes  met  his  with  sorrowful  steadiness. 

"  Yes,  everything  that  I  can.  It  is  better  so. 
Now  go,  please." 

He  saw  her  waver,  saw  that  he  must  be  strong 
for  both,  and,  turning,  left  her. 


129 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A    CONNOISSEUR 

ALTHOUGH  Gilbert  had  been  surprised  at 
Isabel's  acknowledgment  of  superstitious 
terrors,  yet  he  recognised,  with  sardonic 
amusement,  a  growing  respect  in  his  own  mind 
for  "  Our  Lady  of  Wrath,"  a  respect  which  would 
certainly  make  him  feel  more  comfortable  if  the 
statue  were  disposed  of  to  a  church. 

All  the  same  it  was  with  a  pleasurable  sense  of 
anticipation  that  he  sat  at  the  dinner-table  of  the 
great  collector,  Mr.  Salmon,  awaiting  their  post- 
prandial discussion. 

Everything  around  him  was,  in  its  way,  a  work 
of  art;  the  glass  on  the  table  was  old  Venetian, 
the  centre  ornaments  were  exquisitely  chased  silver 
models  of  the  craft  of  Spanish  Armada. 

The  Renaissance  was  the  watchword  of  Mr. 
Salmon's  life,  and  although  he  handled  his  art 
treasures  as  profitably  as  other  men  do  their  stocks 
and  shares,  yet  he  always  kept  the  very  choicest  of 
them  around  him  to  minister  to  his  daily  pleasure. 
The  power  to  do  this  was  one  of  the  joys  which  his 
wealth  had  brought  him. 

Another,  was  the  statuesque  young  wife,  of  the 
best  blond  Jewish  type,  who  sat,  in  serene  and  beau- 

130 


A    CONNOISSEUR 

tiful  stolidity,  at  the  head  of  his  table,  dressed  in 
a  Parisian  adaptation  of  the  costume  of  one  of 
Titian's  Doges'  wives. 

Glancing  from  her  to  the  bloodless-looking,  vol- 
uble man  of  sixty,  Gilbert's  wonder  was  aroused  by 
the  couple. 

However,  after  she  had  left  the  table,  he  saw 
his  hostess  no  more,  but  was  taken  to  smoke  in  a 
wonderful  room,  part  library,  part  museum,  and 
perfect  in  every  detail. 

On  a  black  wooden  stand  of  Venetian  carving, 
under  the  golden  glow  of  an  electric  light  in  the 
semblance  of  an  apple,  stood  the  silver  statue,  and 
Gilbert  was  conscious  of  a  proud  sense  of  proprie- 
torship as,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw  the  work  of 
art  to  full  advantage. 

As  for  Mr.  Salmon,  seating  himself  in  a  deep 
arm-chair  before  it,  he  contemplated  it  with  an  air 
of  devout  absorption. 

"Wonderful!  Wonderful!"  he  murmured. 
"  There  is  something  in  the  workmanship  that 
recalls  a  St.  John  the  Baptist  of  Donatello's,  in 
Florence.  Could  it  be  possible  —  but  no,  a  work 
of  that  value,  lost  in  those  times  in  Florence,  would 
have  been  heard  of  down  to  the  present  day." 

Apparently  inspired  with  a  new  idea,  he  leaned 
forward  to  fix,  with  a  powerful  glass,  the  wrought 
bordering  to  the  robe  that  was  set  with  the  emeralds. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  said  to  himself,  then  turning 
sharply  upon  Gilbert :  "  Young  man,  those  stones 
were  put  in  afterwards  by  an  inferior  craftsman. 
The  work  is  quite  roughly  done.  You  say  that  the 
statue  came  from  South  America?  Well,  it  is  prob- 
able that  this  masterpiece  has  been  taken  out  there 

131 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

from  Spain  or  Italy,  and  subsequently  had  the  jew- 
els added  by  an  ordinary  silversmith.  What  do 
you  say  to  that?  " 

"  I  say  that  it  is  quite  probable,  but  that  you  must 
have  great  technical  knowledge  to  be  so  sure  of 
it,"  was  the  answer  that  brought  a  pleased  flicker 
to  the  sharp  eyes. 

"  So-so,  only  so-so.  Life  is  short  at  the  best. 
But,  if  I  understood  you  right,  you  have  not  quite 
decided  to  sell  this  statue?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  hardly  had  time 
to  decide  on  anything  since  I  obtained  possession 
of  it.  It  seems  that  there  are  all  sorts  of  old  tales 
as  to  its  powers  of  bringing  down  misfortune  upon 
any  one  who  treats  it  disrespectfully,  and  —  you 
may  laugh,  but  I  have  seen  such  strange  things 
happen  lately  that  I  almost  feel  as  though  I  should 
like  to  hedge  with  Providence,  and  sell  it  to  some 
devout  millionaire  who  wished  to  make  an  offering 
to  the  church." 

'  There  are  not  many  people  who  would  care 
to  make  an  offering  of  that  value  to  a  church,"  the 
older  man  said,  with  so  inscrutable  an  air  that  Gil- 
bert was  puzzled  as  to  whether  he  really  wished 
to  become  its  purchaser  or  not. 

This  respectful  mention  of  its  value  sent  a  pleas- 
ant stir  through  his  pulses,  as  he  asked :  "  Have  you 
any  definite  idea,  then,  as  to  what  it  is  worth  ?  " 

The  answer  came  direct  enough.  "  Well,  that 
I  could  hardly  say,  until  the  stones  have  been  seen 
by  a  first-class  jewel  merchant;  however,  what  I 
can  say  is  that,  if  the  stones  are  guaranteed  as  of 
average  quality,  I  would  unhesitatingly  offer  you 
fifty  thousand  dollars." 

132 


A    CONNOISSEUR 

Fifty  thousand  dollars!  The  words  sounded  like 
untold  riches  to  the  man  who  had  worked  so  hard 
for  hundreds. 

He  was  roused  from  his  day-dream  by  the  sharp 
question,  and  the  sharper  accompanying  glance. 

"  I  suppose  in  that  case  you  can  give  me  the 
facts  as  to  wrhere  the  statue  came  from,  and 
through  whose  hands  it  has  passed?" 

A  sudden  sense  of  shame  came  unexpectedly  to 
Gilbert,  but  he  knew  that  the  truth  was  the  only 
possible  thing. 

"  The  whole  thing  sounds  so  like  a  penny-dread- 
ful, that  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  doubted 
the  story,  but  as  far  as  I  know,  it  was  brought 
from  a  privateering  cruise  on  the  Spanish  Main  by 
my  grandfather  more  than  seventy-five  years  ago, 
and  was  hidden  by  him  in  a  garret  chimney  of  an 
old  farmhouse  on  the  Nova  Scotian  coast.  He 
died  a  rich  and  very  old  man,  leaving  this  farmhouse 
and  its  contents  to  me.  I  visited  the  place  for  the 
first  time  this  summer,  and  had  hints  from  an  old 
sailor  that  he  believed  there  to  be  hidden  hoards 
about.  After  all,  though,  it  was  quite  accidentally, 
in  a  rainy  day's  exploring  to  amuse  a  lady  and  child, 
that  we  came  upon  this  statue,  and  the  picture 
that  I  told  you  of.  It  all  sounds  improbable 
enough,  I  must  confess,"  he  ended  with. 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  the  older  man  frankly  agreed. 
"  And  yet,  if  anything  of  that  rarity  and  value  had 
been  lost  from  any  church  or  museum  in  Europe 
within  the  last  twenty-five  years,  I  should  have 
known  of  it." 

Gilbert  flushed  vividly.  "  You  do  not  mean  —  " 
he  began. 

133 


"  I  do  not  mean  anything  save  a  few  business- 
like inquiries,"  was  the  soothing  answer.  "  How- 
ard Glenn's  letter  would  make  me  trust  you 
through  any  improbable  stories.  But  it  is  a  habit 
of  mine  to  get  at  all  possible  details  in  every  trans- 
action, a  habit  that  has  stood  me  in  good  stead  be- 
fore now." 

"  Very  well,"  Gilbert  said,  swallowing  his  pride 
with  an  effort.  "  Here  is  the  address  of  the  lawyer 
in  Bridge  water,  Nova  Scotia,  who  can  corroborate 
what  I  have  said  about  my  right  to  it  and  the  farm." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Salmon,  all  the  same 
pocketing  the  address.  "  But  now  tell  me,  if  we 
should  come  to  a  bargain,  should  I  have  your  leave 
to  publish  this  story?  If  I  buy  this  statue,  I  mean 
to  keep  it  for  my  own  collection,  and  half  its  value 
would  be  lost  to  me  unless  its  history  were  in  my 
catalogue." 

For  a  moment  Gilbert  weighed  this  new  question 
in  silence  before  he  spoke.  "  In  any  case,  I  should 
always  prefer  that  the  names  should  be  kept  back 
from  the  public,  but  I  can  settle  nothing  until  I  have 
been  to  Canada  and  seen  some  of  my  family.  Until 
I  return,  at  any  rate,  I  should  wish  nothing  said 
about  the  whole  affair." 

"  You  may  trust  me  for  that.  We  collectors  do 
not  gossip  about  our  bargains  beforehand.  But, 
if  you  like,  you  can  leave  the  statue  in  my  strong- 
room, and  I  will  have  it  valued  for  you." 

To  this  the  other  was  glad  to  agree,  and  so  they 
parted  in  amity. 

The  next  morning  Gilbert  started  for  the  small 
town  in  Ontario,  where  his  mother  lived. 

A  smiling  little  town  it  was,  in  that  fertile  penin- 
134 


A   CONNOISSEUR 

sula  of  the  Niagara  district  where  Canada  assumes 
its  most  southern  aspect.  Shady  streets  and  bowery 
gardens  surrounded  the  tidy  houses,  each  set  in 
its  own  grass-plot. 

It  was  all  so  trim  and  bright  in  its  midsummer 
glow,  and  yet  Gilbert  had  a  half-amused,  half-bitter 
consciousness  of  the  old  chill  creeping  over  him, 
as  he  paused  in  front  of  a  prim  little  brick  house, 
evidently  of  greater  age  than  its  Queen  Anne  neigh- 
bours. 

This  chill  had,  from  his  earliest  childhood,  ac- 
companied him  into  the  presence  of  his  mother. 

He  found  her,  seated  in  a  carefully  shaded  room 
in  the  same  old,  rigid  arm-chair,  with  the  same 
old,  rigid  aspect.  She  was  sewing  —  he  had  never 
seen  her  knit,  and  had  always  fancied  that  she  con- 
sidered it  too  soothing  an  occupation  —  holding 
an  uncompromising-looking  white  garment,  into 
which  she  was  working  buttonholes. 

Scarcely  was  the  perfunctory  kiss  and  greeting 
passed  between  them,  than  Gilbert  thought  that  he 
felt  an  extra  chill  of  disapproval  in  her  manner. 

"  And  how  is  Cynthia  ?  "  he  asked,  Cynthia  being 
the  young  girl  whom  his  mother  had  brought  up. 

"  Cynthia  is  well.  I  believe  that  she  is  picking 
peas  in  the  garden." 

"As  devoted  to  her  garden  as  ever?" 

"  Yes,  she  persisted  in  her  idea  of  growing  flow- 
ers and  fruit  for  sale,  and,  I  must  acknowledge,  has 
done  well.  Still,  I  can  see  no  necessity  for  it,  and, 
if  she  would  only  have  taken  up  the  church  work 
that  I  was  forced  to  relinquish,  she  would  have  had 
plenty  to  occupy  her." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  dare  say  that  she  likes  to  feel  she 
135 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

earns  her  pocket-money,"  he  said,  carelessly.  He 
had  always  had  a  kindly  liking  for  the  girl,  but 
at  present  his  own  affairs  were  of  chief  interest 
to  him.  The  cold  blue  eyes  had  been  watching 
him  narrowly,  and  had  read  his  preoccupation,  and 
the  old  woman  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"  And  so  you  have  accepted  your  grandfather's 
legacy?"  she  said,  brusquely. 

Gilbert  answered  in  a  tone  of  studied  impas- 
siveness. 

"  One  can  scarcely  call  that  tumble-down,  old 
house  much  of  a  legacy,  but  I  took  it  on  account 
of  the  papers  that  went  with  it.  I  felt  that  I  must 
know  their  contents." 

A  keen  interest  showed  for  a  moment  in  her  face, 
and  was  immediately  repressed.  "  One  step  at  a 
time;  first  the  farm,  and  then  this  image  that  you 
wrote  of.  After  that,  there  will  be  some  other  will- 
o'-the-wisp  to  lure  you  on." 

"  Mother,"  he  began,  more  earnestly,  "  you  have 
not  asked  what  those  papers  were." 

"Why  should  I  ask?  Cannot  I  tell  that  it  is 
something  to  entice  you  away  from  the  path  of 
duty  ?  "  was  her  sombre  answer. 

"  It  is  a  will  of  my  grandfather's,  made  the  week 
before  he  died,  leaving  me  a  third  of  his  estate. 
Isaac  Neisner  has  had  it  in  his  possession  ever 
since." 

It  was  but  natural  that  he  should  feel  a  sense 
of  triumph  in  the  announcement,  but  if  he  had  ex- 
pected to  arouse  even  a  show  of  surprise,  he  was 
mistaken. 

"  I  was  right  when  I  spoke  of  will-o'-the-wisps. 
And  you  will  follow  this  one?  "  she  asked,  gloomily. 

136 


A    CONNOISSEUR 

"  I  certainly  shall,  unless  you  can  show  me  good 
reason  to  the  contrary,"  he  asserted,  his  resolution 
crystallising  with  his  words.  His  mother  leaned 
forward,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  sewing. 

"  And  you  promise  to  abide  by  that  reason  ?  " 

"  How  can  I,  until  I  am  in  a  position  to  judge 
it?  Mother,  don't  let  us  be  in  an  antagonistic  atti- 
tude now.  I  might,  on  my  part,  complain  of  the 
mystery  you  had  created  in  our  affairs,  but  all  I 
ask  now  is  to  hear  from  you  the  whole  story  of  our 
family.  I  have  refused  to  sell  the  image  without 
knowing  it." 

Some  softening  influence  did  seem  to  touch  her. 

"  Your  father  and  I  thought  to  save  you  from 
temptation."  she  said,  more  gently. 

Unwilling  to  say  that  he  felt  they  had  wronged 
him,  Gilbert  repeated :  "  I  say  that  I  will  not  blame 
you  for  that,  if  only  you  will  tell  me  what  concerns 
me  so  deeply  now?  " 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  have  it,"  she  agreed,  dryly, 
and,  during  the  hours  that  followed,  Gilbert  heard 
for  the  first  time  his  family  history. 


137 


CHAPTER   XV. 

IN    THE   DAYS   OF    HER   YOUTH 

SUSAN  BAUER'S  girlhood  had  been  spent  at 
the  old  home  on  the  La  Have  River,  and  a 
dull  and  laborious  girlhood  it  had  been. 

Her  mother  was  a  fretful  invalid,  aged  before 
her  time  by  hard  work,  and  the  bearing  and  loss 
of  children.  Susan  had  been  the  only  one  of  the 
family  who  had  lived  to  grow  up,  and  her  mother 
would  have  liked  to  have  seen  her  in  the  enjoyment 
of  some  of  the  little  fineries  and  pleasures  of  the 
other  girls  of  the  neighbourhood. 

But  the  determined  miserliness  of  Jonathan  Bauer 
had  isolated  them  from  the  life  of  the  countryside, 
so  that,  at  last,  Mrs.  Bauer,  ashamed  of  her  shabby 
garments,  ceased  to  appear  even  at  church  gather- 
ings. 

To  these,  however,  Susan  clung  with  a  pertinacity 
which  she  inherited  from  her  German  —  in  local 
parlance,  Dutch  —  ancestry. 

They  were  both  simple,  conscientious  women, 
and,  believing  in  the  necessity  for  this  strenuous 
economy,  they  toiled  early  and  late,  asking  for  no 
pleasures  or  change. 

The  only  change  came  to  them  in  the  periodic 
138 


IN    THE    DAYS   OF    HER   YOUTH 

absences  of  the  head  of  the  house,  when  they  silently 
relaxed  into  more  restful  ways. 

Susan  was  not  more  than  eighteen  when  her 
mother  died,  and  her  life  became  truly  solitary. 

She  worked  on  as  before,  occasionally  shedding 
furtive  tears  over  her  work,  and  singing  a  more 
mournful  type  of  hymn.  She  also  went  less  to  the 
Lutheran  services,  and,  when  her  father  was  away, 
went  as  much  as  possible  to  a  Presbyterian  church, 
presided  over  by  a  dyspeptic-looking  young  divine, 
whose  views  as  to  the  eternal  arrangements  of  the 
universe  were  as  gloomy  as  his  own  appearance. 

She  would  sometimes,  on  Saturdays,  lock  up  the 
house,  and  spend  the  Sunday  with  an  old  lady 
cousin,  who  lived  much  nearer  this  church. 

Little  as  Susan  saw  of  the  outside  world,  she  had, 
during  these  Sunday  visits,  heard  things  said  which 
began  to  make  her  wonder  if  her  father  were,  if 
not  a  rich  man,  at  any  rate,  not  a  poor  one.  Even 
in  her  mystical,  unworldly  nature  the  thought  that 
hers  and  her  mother's  lives  had  been  rendered  un- 
necessarily sordid  was  beginning  to  arouse  a  dull 
resentment. 

She  would  look  down  in  church  at  her  toil-hard- 
ened hands  and  shabby  black  dress,  and  pray  that 
she  might  be  given  strength  to  honour  her  father. 

It  was  a  little  more  than  a  year  after  Mrs.  Bauer's 
death,  when  her  father  returned  from  a  cruise  of 
several  months  in  an  unwontedly  good  humour. 
So  comprehensive  had  this  good  humour  seemed 
that  she  had  ventured,  after  their  tea,  to  harness 
the  old  white  horse  and  drive  up  to  the  weekly 
prayer-meeting. 

On  her  return  she  had  slipped  in  quietly  from 
139 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

the  barn,  and,  going  up-stairs,  sat  at  her  window 
in  the  dark  to  live  again  the  pleasure  she  had  ex- 
perienced in  the  sound  of  Mr.  Clinch's  deep  tones, 
and  the  exalted  sentiments  they  had  aroused  in  her 
heart. 

She  heard  the  voices  of  her  father  and  of  the 
mate  of  one  of  his  vessels,  a  man  whom  she  in- 
stinctively disliked,  as  they  talked  just  below  her 
on  the  steps,  but  she  was  too  wrapt  in  these  pleasant 
thoughts  of  hers  to  heed  their  words. 

Presently  a  fluttering,  gray  night-moth  blundered 
against  her  face,  abruptly  breaking  the  thread  of  her 
devoutly  sentimental  meditations.  Leaning  out  in 
the  darkness  to  brush  away  the  moth,  she  was  not 
far  above  the  heads  of  the  two  talkers. 

"  Well,  the  girl  will  be  the  gainer  by  all  this 
money  of  yours  some  day,  I  suppose.  There's  no 
one  else  to  have  it,  is  there?  "  she  heard  the  mate 
say. 

"  No  one,  save  myself,  Reuben  Stecker,  and  I 
mean  to  have  it  for  many  a  day  yet,  so  you  needn't 
think  you'll  get  any  of  it  out  of  me  by  marrying 
the  girl,  for  you  won't.  Besides,  what  right  have 
you  to  be  saying  things  like  '  all  this  money  of 
yours '  out  so  loud  ?  There  mayn't  be  so  much  as 
you  think." 

The  mate  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  I  don't  think,  I  know.  I  know  that  you're 
rolling  up  money  every  year,  and  other  folks  beside 
me  are  beginning  to  guess  it.  Look  here,"  and  now 
he  did  lower  his  voice,  though  it  was  still  distinctly 
audible  to  Susan,  leaning  out  overhead.  "  Have 
you  ever  thought  what  would  happen  if  that  affair 


140 


IN    THE   DAYS   OF   HER  YOUTH 

of  ours  at  Mobile  last  spring  were  to  get  blown 
upon?  Have  you  seen  last  week's  Citizen?" 

"  No,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  and  through  the 
gruffness  of  the  question,  there  was  an  evident  echo 
of  fear. 

"  Well,  here's  something  I  cut  out  of  it  for  your 
benefit,  and,  when  you've  read  it,  you  just  tell  me 
if  it  doesn't  mean  us?" 

Something  was  muttered  that  sounded  like  an 
oath,  and,  peering  anxiously  down,  Susan  could  see 
by  the  light  of  a  match  which  the  mate  had  struck, 
that  he  was  handing  a  strip  of  newspaper  to  her 
father. 

Afraid  of  being  discovered,  she  hastily  drew  in 
her  head,  but  all  the  same  she  heard  her  father  say : 

"  Do  you  think  me  a  bat  to  be  able  to  read  in 
the  dark?  Here,  come  inside,  and  we'll  get  a  light." 

Susan  knew  that  her  father  would  light  the  lamp 
himself  rather  than  bring  her  upon  the  scene,  and 
so  sat  still,  cowering  under  some  new,  undefined 
fear  in  the  darkness.  She  had  never  loved  her 
father ;  in  fact,  that  would  have  been  about  as  possi- 
ble as  the  love  of  a  meek  barn-yard  chicken  for  the 
vigorous  old  eagle  soaring  above,  but  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  look  upon  him  as  fulfilling  the  local 
ideal  of  respectability,  working  hard  at  his  busi- 
ness all  the  week,  sitting  in  a  shiny  black  coat  in  the 
Lutheran  church  on  Sundays,  never  being  known  to 
drink  or  play  cards. 

Now  this  hint  of  surreptitious  riches,  and  of  local 
gossip  over  the  same,  brought  the  first  disquieting 
thought  that  these  absences  of  her  father's  might 
be  the  cloak  to  many  an  outside  element  in  his  life. 

Her  very  incapacity  to  understand  his  character 
141 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

or  circumstances  added  to  this  terror  of  unknown 
forces  in  her  narrow  life. 

"  Oh,  if  only  mother  had  lived !  "  she  moaned  to 
herself  under  her  breath. 

For  an  hour  or  more,  the  light  streamed  out  from 
the  down-stairs  window,  and  the  insistent  murmur 
of  low  voices  went  on,  while  Susan  sat  in  the  dark- 
ness, a  prey  to  undefined  fears. 

At  last,  the  dread  that  her  father  might  discover 
that  she  was  still  undressed  drove  her  to  bed,  and 
to  troubled  snatches  of  sleep. 

Used  to  early  rising  as  she  was,  it  was  half  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual  when  she  was  astir  the  next 
morning. 

She  had  not  enough  self -consciousness  to  look 
pitifully  at  her  own  pale  face  and  heavy  eyes  in 
the  glass,  as  would  a  more  modern  young  woman; 
she  only  brushed  and  twisted  up  her  smooth,  abun- 
dant masses  of  flaxen  hair  into  as  tight  a  knot  as 
possible,  donned  her  black-and-white  print,  and 
went  down.  The  house,  like  most  of  those  belong- 
ing to  the  German  settlers,  was  kept  immaculately 
clean,  and  her  trained  housewife's  eyes  caught  sight, 
at  once,  of  a  scrap  of  paper  lying  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

As  she  picked  it  up,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  cutting 
from  a  newspaper,  the  whole  of  the  last  night's 
overheard  talk  flashed  back  upon  her,  and  she  trem- 
bled all  over  as  she  went,  with  it  in  her  hand, 
into  the  kitchen  behind  the  house. 

She  sat  down  in  an  old  wooden  rocking-chair, 
holding  but  not  looking  at  the  paper,  which  she 
knew  contained  the  solution  of  the  mystery;  her 
precise  conscientiousness  still  making  her  hesitate 

142 


IN   THE    DAYS   OF   HER   YOUTH 

before  anything  which  seemed  like  prying  into  her 
father's  affairs. 

But  the  recollection  of  her  own  name  in  the  con- 
versation drove  away  her  scruples.  She  felt  that 
she  had,  at  any  rate,  a  right  to  protect  herself  from 
that  hateful  mate,  with  his  bold  eyes  and  half-for- 
eign tricks. 

The  cutting  had  evidently  been  an  extract  from 
a  Boston  paper,  and  told,  with  great  apparent  in- 
dignation, of  a  strange  outbreak  of  unlawful  slave- 
trading  which  had  recently  come  to  light  in  the 
Southern  States.  The  boldest  and  most  successful 
of  these  lawbreakers  had  been  a  Nova  Scotian  cap- 
tain and  ship-owner,  who  had,  in  the  preceding 
spring,  brought  a  cargo  of  healthy  young  negroes 
from  the  Congo  to  Mobile,  and  thence  up  to  a  lonely 
plantation,  where  they  were  landed  and  sold  at  large 
prices. 

By  the  time  the  story  was  known,  the  schooner 
and  her  captain  were  far  at  sea,  but  the  paper  de- 
manded that  the  repetition  of  such  an  outrage 
should  be  made  impossible. 

No  American  of  the  5o's  could  look  upon  slavery 
with  eyes  of  the  present  day,  but  still,  Susan  had 
lately  heard  a  lecture  delivered  by  Mr.  Clinch  on 
the  horrors  of  slavery,  and  her  soul  had  burned 
within  her  as  she  listened.  Mr.  Clinch  had,  like 
so  many  Canadians,  been  partly  educated  in  Boston, 
where  he  had  come  under  the  noble  influence  of 
some  of  the  abolitionists  of  the  day,  and  listened 
to  details  of  the  grim  horror  that  they  were  fighting. 

Her  father  one  of  those  people  held  up  to  moral 
scorn  as  a  slave-trader!  Her  father  a  man  who 
hid  his  ill-gotten  gains  away  from  the  light  of  day. 

143 


BUBBLES  WE  BUY 

grudging  her  dead  mother  every  alleviation  for  her 
failing  health! 

If  Susan  had  not  been  so  wretched,  she  would 
almost  have  wondered  at  the  coldly  combative 
strength  that  awoke  in  her.  It  was  so  new  to  her 
to  feel  anything  save  meek  submission  toward  the 
father  who  ruled  her  life.  She  did  not  yet  under- 
stand that,  not  being  a  woman  who  would  ever  think 
for  herself,  it  was  merely  a  transference  of  alle- 
giance, and  that  from  henceforth  the  words  "  Mr. 
Clinch  said  "  would  take  the  place  in  her  life  that 
"  father  said  "  had  hitherto  done. 

However,  even  now  she  extracted  her  first  grains 
of  comfort  from  the  thought  that  she  would  consult 
Mr.  Clinch  as  to  what  it  was  her  duty  to  do,  for 
the  idea  had  never  come  to  her  that  life  could  move 
on  exactly  the  same  lines  as  before. 

Although  she  could  not  have  defined  it  clearly, 
she  knew  that  something  familiar  was  ended,  and 
something  strange  was  about  to  take  its  place.  As 
she  rose  to  open  the  house-door,  the  sea  fog  came 
in  gray  and  cold,  and  she  shivered,  and  hastened 
to  light  the  kitchen  fire. 

Presently  she  heard  her  father's  heavy  step  over- 
head, but,  when  it  sounded  on  the  stairs,  she  no- 
ticed that  it  was  lingering,  and,  taking  a  surrep- 
titious peep  into  the  passage,  she  saw  that  he  was 
peering  about  into  corners,  as  though  in  search  of 
something. 

Instinctively  her  hand  went  into  her  pocket  to 
feel  that  the  slip  of  paper  was  safely  there. 


144 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A   NEW   ALLEGIANCE 

AS  her  father  came  into  the  kitchen,  where 
they  still  ate  their  meals,  she  felt  that  her 
heart  was  beating  faster,  and  that  her  face 
was  pale. 

However,  Jonathan  Bauer  had  never  been  in  the 
habit  of  studying  the  looks  of  his  women-folk,  and, 
to  her  great  relief,  she  knew  from  the  first  sound 
of  his  voice  that  his  humour  was  still  set  fair. 

"  Coffee  smells  good,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  Must  say  you're  not  a  bad  housewife,  as  girls 
go.  There,  as  I  didn't  bring  you  a  present,  there's 
a  pound  for  you  "  —  shillings  and  pounds  were  still 
words  in  use  in  the  Provinces  of  the  50*5  — "  to 
buy  something  smart  next  time  you  go  to  Bridge- 
water.  But  be  careful  of  it,  be  careful  of  it,  for 
observe,  my  girl,  that  it  sometimes  takes  long  to 
earn  a  pound,"  and  his  grudging  fingers  hovered 
claw-like  around  the  note  that  he  gave  into  her 
hand. 

Susan  stared  in  silent  amazement  at  such  an  un- 
expected apparition,  then,  with  a  sudden  movement, 
she  thrust  the  note  back  into  his  hand,  and  locked 
her  own  together  firmly. 

145 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  I  don't  want  it,  thank  you,  father,"  she  said, 
the  unexplained  tears  coming  into  her  eyes.  "  I've 
got  my  black  merino  fresh  for  Sundays,  and  I  don't 
need  no  more." 

With  the  speed  of  a  conjuring  trick,  the  note 
disappeared  in  her  father's  grasp. 

"  Well,  well,  I  dessay  you  don't  really  need  it," 
he  agreed,  with  an  unmistakable  air  01*  relief. 

Susan's  heart  was  now  hammering  so  that  she 
hardly  heard  his  words,  but  under  her  fright,  her 
newly  founded  courage  held  firmly. 

"  Father,"  she  gasped,  "  I  heard  that  they're 
wanting  a  school-teacher  at  New  Germany,  and  I 
thought  that  if  you'd  let  me  go,  I'd  like  to  try  it." 

The  effect  of  her  words  was  not  reassuring. 
The  bushy  gray  eyebrows  drew  together,  and  the 
steel-like  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  face. 

"  What  do  you  want  that  for  ?  "  was  the  explo- 
sive question. 

Her  answer  came  breathlessly. 

"  It's  so  lonely  here  now,  and  the  housework  is 
hard.  I  could  earn  my  living  easier  there,  anyway." 

He  laughed  with  what,  if  she  had  had  her  wits 
about  her,  she  might  have  noticed  as  a  growing 
uneasiness. 

"  And  have  a  fine  time  with  the  young  men, 
hey?  But  that's  all  stuff  and  nonsense.  What's 
to  become  of  me,  I'd  like  to  know,  with  no  one  to 
cook  or  mend  for  me?  There  ain't  no  need  either 
for  you  to  earn  your  living.  I  made  a  good  profit 
on  the  fish  on  the  last  voyage  out,  and  the  rum  and 
molasses  sold  well,  too.  If  you're  lonely,  you  can 
have  a  girl  to  help  you  in  the  kitchen ;  a  Dutch  girl 
who'll  work  hard  and  not  expect  meat  too  often. 

146 


A   NEW   ALLEGIANCE 

There,  that  ought  to  content  ye,  and  keep  you  from 
talking  any  more  nonsense  yet  awhile." 

There  was  a  rough  kindness  in  his  voice  to  which 
the  girl's  obstinate  fright  made  her  quite  impervious. 

As  her  father  stood,  waiting  for  some  assent  to 
his  words,  she  drew  from  her  pocket  her  shabby, 
empty  purse,  .-and  thrust  the  newspaper  clipping 
into  his  hands. 

"  I  found  that  on  the  stairs  just  now.  Will  you 
tell  me  that  that  ain't  the  way  you  got  rich?  "  she 
gasped,  while  her  father  stared  at  it  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

A  sudden  flare  of  wrath  seemed  to  raise  the  heavy 
gray  locks,  and  bristle  the  eyebrows,  so  that  he 
looked  like  a  clamouring  eagle  as  he  shouted 
hoarsely:  "  What  damned  tomfoolery  is  this?  Go, 
and  mind  your  work,  and  have  no  more  talking! 
That's  what  comes  of  being  kind  to  women !  Who 
told  you  I  got  rich,  anyway  ?  If  I  find  it's  that  sneak- 
ing parson  as  brings  you  gossip,  I'll  soon  put  a  stop 
to  your  churchgoing.  'Spose  he  thinks  if  I'm  rich 
he'd  like  to  get  a  share  of  it,  but  he  won't." 

Susan,  shaking  under  this  torrent  of  speech,  felt 
as  though  her  knees  would  give  way  beneath  her, 
but  that  new  force  within  her  held  firm. 

"  Father,  if  you'll  only  say  that  you  never  made 
money  out  of  poor  wretched  slaves,  I'll  work  at 
home,  all  you  like,"  she  pleaded,  even  venturing 
to  lay  a  timid  hand  upon  his  arm. 

But  she  had  gone  too  far,  and  aroused  his  wrath 
in  earnest. 

With  a  grim  oath,  he  struck  her  down  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  strode  away.  When  Susan  pres- 
ently picked  herself  up,  dizzy  and  bewildered  from 

147 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

her  fall,  she  found  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  she 
was  alone. 

In  years  of  drudgery,  she  had  acquired  the  fine 
stoicism  of  the  working-woman,  and,  with  aching 
head  and  trembling  hands,  now  set  about  making 
herself  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  He  hasn't  had  a  mouthful  of  breakfast,"  she 
said  to  herself,  with  a  certain  sense  of  guilt  at  such 
an  untoward  event. 

Mechanically  she  got  through  her  morning's 
tasks,  with  the  ever-present  dread  of  her  father's 
return. 

When  once  these  tasks  were  finished,  she  peered 
out  timidly  at  front  door  and  back,  then,  seeing  no 
sign  of  life,  she  ventured  more  boldly  on  a  tour 
of  inspection  in  the  barn.  Satisfied  that  her  father 
was  nowhere  about  the  premises,  she  went  up  to 
her  room,  and  put  on  her  Sunday  dress  and  hat,  — 
poor,  shabby  black  things,  but  treated  by  her 
with  all  ceremony. 

After  this  it  was  a  simple  matter  to  her  to  har- 
ness the  old  white  horse  into  the  still  older  buggy, 
lock  up  the  house,  leaving  the  key  in  its  familiar 
nook  under  the  door-step,  and  take  the  inland  road. 

Her  mind  was  made  up.  She  must  see  Mr. 
Clinch  and  get  his  advice  on  the  next  step  to  be 
taken. 

It  often  happens  that  to  those  of  resolute  mood 
details  lend  a  helping  hand.  So  now,  as  Susan 
and  the  white  horse  jogged  despondently  through 
the  raw  damp  of  the  autumn  morning,  she  saw 
what  brought  back  courage  and  animation.  It  was 
only  Mr.  Clinch's  gaunt  sorrel  tied  up  outside  the 
door  of  the  new  church  that  was  a  recent  offshoot 

148 


A   NEW   ALLEGIANCE 

from  the  one  in  Bridgewater,  but  the  sight  made 
her  pull  herself  upright  from  the  tired  droop  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  made  her  face  lose  its  weary 
downward  curves  and  pallor.  She  felt  sure  of  help 
now. 

A  somewhat  strange-looking  figure,  this  gaunt, 
stiffly  dressed  parson,  of  about  thirty-five,  to  be  the 
knight  errant  of  a  young  girl's  fancy,  and  yet,  in 
his  own  conventional,  narrow  way,  there  was  a 
spark  of  true  knight-errantry  in  the  man's  heart, 
as,  busied  over  accounts  in  the  vestry,  he  looked 
up  at  the  sound  of  a  footstep  and  saw  Susan  Bauer's 
tremulous  figure,  pathetic  in  its  poor  clothes,  and 
her  distressed  face,  its  blonde  colouring  all  blurred 
by  fatigue  and  pain.  There  was  no  pretence  at 
an  ordinary  greeting  between  them. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said,  moving  quickly  toward 
her,  and  taking  her  appealing  hands  in  his.  "  I 
can  see  that  you  are  in  trouble." 

As  their  gaze  met,  the  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
which  rolled  silently  down  her  cheeks,  and,  all 
the  stiffness  and  constraint  of  her  shyness  gone, 
a  certain  charm  of  youth  made  itself  evident. 

For  some  time  Mr.  Clinch  had  been  thinking 
that  she  would  make  him  a  suitably  devoted  wife, 
and  this  moment  settled  the  question  in  his  mind. 

"  You  are  tired  and  agitated.  Take  this  seat 
and  try  to  tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

As  Susan  stilled  the  one  or  two  sobs  that  had 
broken  out,  and  looked  up  at  him  obediently,  a 
sudden  thought  checked  her. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  tell  her  own  sorrows  to 
Mr.  Clinch,  but  to  tell  of  her  father's  sin  was 
another  matter.  The  paragraph  from  the  paper 

149 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 

had  distinctly  spoken  of  broken  laws,  and  the  pen- 
alty —  what  if  through  any  words  of  hers  her  father 
should  be  brought  to  punishment? 

"  It  is  about  some  one  else,  too,"  she  faltered, 
"  some  one  who  has  done  wrong,  but,  oh,  who  I 
wouldn't  do  harm  to." 

He  saw  her  point  now,  and  hastened  to  reassure 
her,  speaking  solemnly. 

"If  you  have  sin  and  sorrow  to  tell  me  of,  you 
tell  it  to  me  in  confidence  before  God.  You  can 
trust  in  me,  surely." 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  do,"  she  repeated,  shocked  by  any 
doubt  on  such  a  point. 

Then  it  was  that  Susan  told  her  tale,  sometimes 
in  confused,  disconnected  phrases,  helped  out  by 
discreet  questions  from  her  hearer,  sometimes  with 
the  feverish  fluency  of  unconscious  feeling. 

When  at  the  end  she  faltered  over  the  telling 
of  the  blow  that  had  struck  her  down,  an  indignant 
pity  lightened  the  austerity  of  Mr.  Clinch's  face, 
and  he  murmured,  gently : 

'  Though  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me, 
the  Lord  will  take  me  up.' ' 

There  was  a  pause  while  he  sat  wrapped  in  deep 
thought,  the  girl  watching  him  intently;  then,  as 
he  looked  up  and  their  eyes  met,  her  appeal  took 
shape  in  words. 

"  Oh,  please  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do;  I  have 
no  one  but  you  to  go  to." 

Gravely,  measuredly,  his  answer  came: 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  own  sense  of  duty 
has  already  marked  out  your  path,  when  you  asked 
your  father's  leave  to  earn  your  living  as  a  school- 
teacher. You  cannot  take  the  wages  of  sin." 

150 


A    NEW   ALLEGIANCE 

"  No,  oh,  no.  But  —  need  I  go  home  again  ?  " 
she  asked,  nervously. 

What  man  with  a  heart  in  his  breast  could  have 
sent  the  trembling  girl  back  to  face  her  father  again? 

Mr.  Clinch,  at  any  rate,  could  not. 

"Considering  that  you  have  already  asked  his 
permission,  and  that  you  are  in  fear  of  further 
violence,  I  think  that  there  would  be  no  lack  of 
filial  duty  in  your  going  to  stay  with  some  relative 
or  friend.  I  myself  will  take  you  to  old  Mrs. 
Truman,  who  is  a  real  mother  in  Israel,  and  from 
there  you  can  write  and  settle  matters  with  your 
father." 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are !  "  Susan  sobbed,  and  the 
stiff  ministerial  attitude  was  somewhat  relaxed  as 
he  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Believe  me,  you  shall  never  want  a  friend  while 
I  live,"  he  began,  and  then,  in  the  stilted  phrases 
that  sounded  beautiful  in  the  girl's  ears,  he  told 
her  how  he  had  been  watching  the  gradual  unfolding 
of  her  Christian  virtues,  and  deciding  that  she  would 
be  a  worthy  helpmate  in  his  parochial  work. 

If  St.  Peter  had  suddenly  flung  open  the  golden 
gates,  and  asked  her  to  take  a  seat  of  honour  within 
them,  Susan  could  scarcely  have  been  more  over- 
whelmed at  the  prospect.  To  be  a  minister's  wife, 
to  be  Mr.  Clinch's  wife,  to  see  to  his  comfort,  and 
help  him  humbly  in  his  work,  what  could  the  heart 
of  woman  ask  more  than  that? 

There  was  so  little  uncertainty  in  either  mind  as 
to  her  answer  that  I  doubt  if  any  answer  were  really 
given ;  but,  at  any  rate,  both  man  and  woman  were 
thoroughly  content  with  each  other,  and,  from  that 
day  forth,  were  mutually  loyal  in  word  and  deed. 

151 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

For  the  next  few  weeks  all  outward  details  seemed 
vague  and  unreal  to  Susan  beside  the  great  central 
fact  that  Mr.  Clinch  thought  her  worthy  to  become 
his  wife.  Her  stay  with  her  kindly,  widowed  cousin, 
her  carefully  planned  letter  to  her  father,  which 
brought  no  other  reply  than  her  little  box  of  clothes, 
were  merely  part  of  these  details,  and  on  the  day 
that  she  stood  in  Mrs.  Truman's  best  parlour  beside 
Mr.  Clinch,  the  past  fell  away  from  her  and  she 
was  in  fact  as  in  name  a  new  creature,  Roger 
Clinch's  wife. 

With  utter  unworldliness  the  two  gave  no  further 
thought  to  Jonathan  Bauer's  money.  "  He  is  joined 
to  his  idols  like  Ephraim  —  let  him  alone,"  said  the 
minister,  sternly. 

But  if  either  of  them  had  had  the  faintest  com- 
prehension of  the  old  man's  character,  they  would, 
instead  of  settling  down  in  a  cottage  in  Bridgewater, 
have  gone  to  make  a  new  home  for  themselves  else- 
where. From  the  day  of  his  marriage,  Mr.  Clinch 
found  himself  perpetually,  and  in  the  most  unlikely 
places,  striking  against  some  adverse  influence. 

Here  and  there,  impalpable  but  very  real,  it  met 
him  as  an  opposing  force,  chilling  a  friendly  greet- 
ing, spreading  an  unfair  version  of  some  transaction, 
hinting  at  Susan's  unfilial  behaviour. 

Mr.  Clinch  was  of  too  reserved  a  nature  to  be 
able  to  trace  and  beard  this  antagonistic  force, 
though  even  he  could  see  that  it  came  from  the 
seafaring  element  of  the  place. 

A  clergyman  and  a  doctor  cannot  fight  against 
unpopularity,  and  at  last  a  friendly  deacon  came  to 
Mr.  Clinch  and  gave  him  a  word  of  warning : 

"  The  whole  countryside  could  tell  you  that  Jona- 
152 


A   NEW   ALLEGIANCE 

than  Bauer  is  an  ill  man  to  cross.  You've  crossed 
him,  and  you'll  never  prosper  in  this  place  while  he 
lives.  If  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  look  round 
for  a  start  elsewhere." 

Mr.  Clinch  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  the  wisdom 
of  the  man's  words.  Without  saying  anything  to 
Susan,  who  had  just  lost  her  first  child,  he  wrote  to 
friends,  with  the  result  that  in  a  few  months  they 
went  to  make  their  home  in  what  seemed  then  the 
very  remote  regions  of  Ontario. 

Here  they  had  days  of  poverty,  of  sorrow  in  the 
loss  of  children,  but  they  faced  life  with  the  stern 
fortitude  of  their  religion. 


153 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

CLASHING  WILLS 

AND  that  was  all  we  heard  of  my  father  for 
many  a  day,  for  postage  cost  something  in 
those  times,  and  people  didn't  write  gossip- 
ing letters  just  for  nothing,"  the  old  lady  said.  "  At 
last  many  a  year  after,  came  the  lawyer's  letter 
telling  of  his  death  and  of  the  legacy  to  me  of  the 
old  home.  He  must  have  guessed  that  I'd  refuse  it, 
for  if  I  did,  you  were  to  have  the  choice  when  you 
came  of  age.  It  was  a  short  time  before  your  father 
died,  but  his  faith  in  me  never  faltered,  and  he  was 
as  firm  as  ever  against  taking  the  wages  of  sin. 
And  so  we  wrote  and  said  we  would  not  take  it, 
and  one  of  your  father's  dying  charges  to  me  was  to 
save  you  from  any  part  or  lot  in  the  evil  thing." 

Gilbert's  was  a  nature  that  would  have  been  quick 
to  mark  the  pathos  of  the  old  woman's  life  story, 
that  life  dominated  by  a  single  affection  and  a  single 
purpose,  but  now  in  his  present  humour,  he  chose 
only  to  see  the  hardness  of  self-righteous  judgment, 
shutting  his  eyes  to  the  courageous  unworldliness. 

"  And  when  I  was  twenty-one,  and  the  lawyer 
wrote  again,  you  told  him  that  you  knew  nothing 
of  my  whereabouts,  but  that  I  intended  refusing  the 
legacy?  "  he  asked,  quietly. 

154 


CLASHING   WILLS 

Quiet  as  were  the  words,  his  mother  was  quick  to 
feel  that  they  were  out  of  sympathy  with  her,  and 
she  chilled  responsively.  The  rare  expansiveness 
of  a  reserved  nature  is  easily  driven  in  on  itself. 
Through  all  the  days  of  her  widowhood,  the  princi- 
pal event  to  which  Mrs.  Clinch  had  looked  forward 
had  been  the  telling  of  her  life  history  to  her  son, 
and  now  he  had  no  word  of  sympathy  to  give  her. 
His  thoughts  were,  it  seemed  to  her,  merely  set  on 
his  own  selfish  gain. 

She  would  not  understand  the  irritation  with 
which  a  warm-hearted  nature  finds  that  it  has  been 
kept  outside  the  real  life  of  those  nearest  to  it;  she 
could  not  see  that  Gilbert  felt  that  he  had  been 
defrauded  of  something  that  went  to  the  making 
of  his  own  identity  in  the  interweaving  of  family 
tradition  with  hereditary  instincts. 

For  the  first  time  now  he  understood  what  had 
caused  that  blank  that  had  always  existed  between 
his  mother  and  himself.  She  had  from  the  first 
put  him  outside  the  dominant  influences  of  her  life. 

With  an  evident  desire  to  justify  herself,  she 
looked  at  him  as  she  answered  : 

"  It  was  that  summer  when  you  were  camping  in 
the  Adirondacks,  and  I  did  not  know  your  address. 
I  had  also  every  reason  to  feel  that  you  would  not 
disregard  your  father's  dying  wishes." 

At  any  other  time,  the  subterfuge  would  have 
amused  him,  but  now  he  only  commented,  bitterly : 

"  Wishes  which  I  never  heard." 

"  Of  that  your  father  was  the  judge,"  she  said, 
proudly ;  then  with  a  sudden  wistfulness,  "  And 
now  all  our  care  to  save  you  has  come  to  nothing, 

155 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

unless  —  Gilbert,  my  boy,  you  will  not  disregard 
your  father's  lifelong  decision?  " 

For  a  moment  the  thin  old  hand  rested  on  Gil- 
bert's arm,  but  it  was  quickly  withdrawn,  as  he 
answered,  steadily: 

"  Mother,  I  can  promise  nothing  now.  It  is  my 
own  life,  and  I  must  decide  it  on  my  own  judgment." 

"  Then  you  blame  us  for  having  kept  you  in 
ignorance?"  she  asked,  the  weakness  of  old  age 
sounding  in  her  voice. 

A  sudden  sense  of  pity  distracted  Gilbert's 
thoughts,  but  he  knew  that  to  yield  to  it  might 
hamper  his  liberty  of  action,  and  so  he  said,  with 
all  possible  gentleness : 

"  I  certainly  think  that  it  was  an  extreme  meas- 
ure, toward  a  grown-up  son.  But  there  is  no  use  in 
discussing  that  now.  All  I  claim  is  full  liberty  for 
the  future." 

"  You  will  plunge  yourself  into  the  uncertainty 
of  a  struggle  over  this  new  will  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
the  subdued  distress  of  the  aged. 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  I  cannot  tell  you  now, 
mother  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  little  less  patience. 

"  At  least  you  will  assure  me  that  you  will  not  sell 
this  stolen  statue?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  that  it  was  stolen,  and  besides, 
what  should  I  do  with  it?  Do  you  ask  me  to  try 
to  return  it  now  to  the  church  it  came  from  ?  " 

"  That  were  to  encourage  idolatry,"  she  answered, 
with  a  puzzled  air  that  somehow  appealed  to  him, 
for  he  laughed  kindly  as  he  said : 

"  You  must  not  worry  yourself  so,  mother.  If 
my  grandfather  had  letters  of  marque,  I  can  see 
no  reason  why  I  should  not  sell  anything  that  he 

156 


CLASHING   WILLS 

took  then.  I  ought  to  get  enough  from  it  to  give 
me  a  small  income,  and  then  I  shall  go  and  find  out 
about  these  unknown  relations  of  ours  and  the  will 
upon  which  they  acted.  I  shall  be  able  too  to  add  to 
your  comforts  here." 

But  his  mother's  face  had  settled  into  its  well- 
remembered  lines  of  sternness,  and  her  voice  re- 
minded him  of  the  sins  of  his  youth,  as  she  re- 
sponded : 

'  You  have  made  the  purpose  of  my  life  but  a 
vain  thing,  and  would  you  mock  at  me  now?  Go, 
and  do  not  return  to  this  house  while  that  money 
is  in  your  hands.  I  hope  to  die  with  mine  clean." 

The  sorrow  in  her  voice  touched  him  deeply,  and 
he  knew  that  he  could  not  leave  her  thus. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  appealingly,  "  we  cannot  part 
like  this.  Let  me  stay  one  more  day  with  you,  and 
we  will  leave  the  whole  question  alone.  I  do  not 
think  you  will  really  send  me  away  in  anger." 

He  was  right,  she  could  not  do  it. 

She  yielded  enough  to  say,  "  Of  course  you  are 
free  to  remain  if  you  wish.  Perhaps  you  would  like 
to  go  and  find  Cynthia." 

As  this  seemed  to  supply  a  peaceful  ending  to 
this  trying  interview,  Gilbert  willingly  assented. 

What  contrast  could  be  greater,  he  thought  to 
himself,  than  that  between  the  colourless,  shadowy 
old  woman  in  the  shaded  room  where  musty  books, 
dim  portraits,  and  ornaments  spoke  of  nothing  save 
the  past,  and  this  red-haired  girl,  standing  amongst 
the  light  green  tangle  of  the  rows  of  peas,  the  noon- 
tide light  enfolding  her  as  though  it  knew  her  to  be 
a  child  of  the  sun. 

The  ready  flush  that  goes  with  red  hair  spread 

157 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

over  her  face  at  sight  of  Gilbert,  but  she  reached 
out  a  sunburnt  hand,  greeting  him  with  frank  gaiety. 

"  I  should  have  been  indoors  in  my  best  clothes 
to  receive  you,  if  I  hadn't  got  such  a  noble  order 
from  the  hotel  for  my  late  green  peas.  But  I  kept 
some  for  you." 

Relieved  at  the  change  of  atmosphere,  he  answered 
in  the  same  fashion : 

"  Thank  you  for  the  peas,  but  I  don't  believe  that 
under  any  circumstances  would  you  have  been  found 
indoors  in  your  best  garments  on  such  a  day.  My 
mother  evidently  thinks  your  love  for  your  garden 
is  a  pagan  sentiment." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  with  a  half-comic  glance  of  com- 
punction. "I'm  really  sorry,  you  know,  that  I  hate 
fusty  sick-rooms,  and  sewing  for  missions,  and  all 
the  things  she  likes  best.  I  really  used  to  try  to 
stand  them,  and  then  I  found  that  they  made  me 
bad,  while  out  here  in  the  garden  I  am,  in  a  way, 
good.  And  then  you  know,"  she  went  on,  more 
seriously,  "  it  must  be  right  that  I  should  work  and 
earn  money  for  myself,  and  this  is  the  only  thing 
that  I  am  not  stupid  at." 

"  It  is  right  that  you  should  work  at  the  thing 
that  your  nature  teaches  you  to  like.  It  is  the  one 
safe  road  to  walk  in,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "  But  I 
do  not  want  you  to  feel  that  you  must  earn  money. 
My  mother's  home  is  yours,  and  there  will  always  be 
enough  for  both." 

As  the  girl  maintained  a  cautious  silence,  a  new 
idea  came  to  him. 

"  Tell  me,  Cynthia,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  does  she 
live  comfortably,  without  stint,  I  mean  ?  " 

158 


CLASHING    WILLS 

A  half-smile  as  at  the  memory  of  privations  cheer- 
fully undergone,  curved  the  girl's  lips. 

"  She  is  very  careful/'  she  admitted,  "  and  in  the 
winter  —  well,  we  go  to  bed  pretty  early." 

A  word  of  annoyance  escaped  Gilbert's  lips. 
"  And  she  will  take  so  little  from  me,  always  assur- 
ing me  that  she  has  plenty.  But  look  here!  You 
can  do  me  a  real  service,  if  you  will." 

Would  she  ?  What  was  there  that  Cynthia  Joyce 
would  not  have  unhesitatingly  done  at  the  bidding 
of  Gilbert,  the  one  companion  of  her  dreams,  on  the 
memory  of  whose  brief  visits  she  lived. 

Utterly  ignorant  of  this  element,  he  went  on : 
"  When  I  go  to-morrow,  I  will  leave  some  money 
with  you,  and  later  on,  I  will  send  you  some  more. 
Tell  me,  do  you  think  that  you  could  spend  it  on 
some  comforts  for  her  without  her  knowledge?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  easy  when  she  was  well,"  she 
said.  "  She  watches  every  cent.  But  then,  if  she 
were  sick  —  she  sometimes  is  sick,  you  know  —  " 

"Is  she?"  he  asked  sadly,  looking  away  over 
the  fertile  garden  to  the  sunny  fields.  In  that 
moment  his  life  seemed  a  very  futile  thing.  He  had 
failed  to  help  Isabel ;  must  he  then  fail  to  help  this 
other,  with  the  closest  claim  upon  him? 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  that  then  it  would  make  a  dif- 
ference," she  comforted,  quick  to  note  his  depres- 
sion. 

"  And  I  am  probably  going  away  soon  to  travel," 
he  went  on,  never  noting  how  at  his  words  all  the 
gladness  died  out  of  her  face.  "  And  I  want  you  to 
promise  to  write  to  me  once  a  month  or  so,  telling 

159 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

me  how  she  really  is,  and  if  she  needs  anything. 
That  will  set  my  mind  more  at  ease." 

"  I  will  be  sure  to  do  it,"  the  girl  promised 
simply,  "  and  you  may  be  certain  that  I  will  always 
do  my  best  for  her." 

"  I  know  you  will,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  One  could 
not  know  you  as  long  as  I  have,  without  feeling 
that  one  could  trust  anything  to  you." 

The  lightly  spoken  words  were  treasured  in  the 
girl's  heart  through  many  a  monotonous  day  after 
Gilbert  had  gone  out  into  the  world  again. 


160 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

STARTING   AFRESH 

WHEN  Gilbert  got  back  to  Boston  he  found 
awaiting  him  a  letter  from  the  well- 
known  Colorado  heiress,  Miss  McShane, 
saying  that  she  had  heard  through  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Broderick's,  of  his  desire  to  sell  a  costly  statue  of 
the  Virgin. 

She  herself  was  planning  to  make  a  memorial 
offering  to  a  new  Roman  Catholic  cathedral,  and 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  on  the  subject. 

Inexpressibly  touched  by  this  proof  of  Isabel's 
thought  for  him,  and  whimsically  sharing  her  own 
desire  to  see  the  statue  safely  deposited  in  a  church. 
Gilbert  entered  into  negotiations  with  the  lady,  witli 
the  result  that  the  statue  became  her  property  for 
five  thousand  dollars  less  than  Mr.  Salmon  was 
spurred  on  to  offer. 

"  And  after  that,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  con- 
templated the  cheque,  "  I  can  certainly  never  lay 
claim  to  being  an  enlightened  scientific  man.  Five 
thousand  dollars  thrown  away  for  a  superstition 
which  I  don't  believe  in,  and  the  quaintest  part  of  it 
is  that  my  mind  is  certainly  easier  for  it." 

The  feelings  of  Mr.  Salmon  were  soothed  by  his 
becoming  the  possessor  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and 

161 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Gilbert  knew 
himself  to  be  in  possession  of  a  small  but  secure 
income  independent  of  the  work  of  his  brain. 

"  I  could  even  afford  the  luxury  of  an  illness 
now,"  he  thought. 

One  of  the  conditions  of  both  sales  had  been  that 
the  name  of  the  owner  should  not  be  made  public. 
Of  course  Miss  McShane's  magnificent  gift  became 
one  of  the  topics  of  the  day.  It  was  shown  in  New 
York,  for  the  benefit  of  a  charity,  before  being  sent 
westward  to  its  destination,  and  the  papers  were  full 
of  the  mystery  of  its  origin,  its  artistic  beauty,  and 
the  intrinsic  value  of  the  jewels.  More  than  one 
hypothetical  history  of  the  adventures  of  the  famous 
Virgin  did  Gilbert  read,  histories  which  accounted 
for  every  year  during  which  he  knew  her  to  have 
lain  in  the  shadows  of  his  grandfather's  garret 
chimney. 

Sometimes  indeed  he  had  to  join  in  speculations 
on  the  subject,  and  when  he  heard  every  crime  in 
the  calendar  raked  out  to  account  for  the  possession 
of  the  treasure,  he  felt  heartsick  of  the  whole  affair. 

A  great  longing  to  get  away  from  all  familiar 
things  grew  upon  him,  but  there  was  one  thing  that 
he  must  first  do.  A  lingering  hope  that,  in  spite  of 
Mrs.  Broderick's  words,  he  might  still  find  her  in 
town,  took  him  past  her  house.  No,  it  was  evidently 
closed. 

He  sought  her  business  man,  with  whom  he  had 
had  frequent  communications.  Yes,  she  had  sailed 
for  Europe  on  the  very  day  of  his  return,  with 
instructions  that  her  address  was  to  be  given  to 
no  one.  But  she  was  surely  in  a  state  requiring 
companionship  and  care,  Gilbert  urged,  wretchedly. 

162 


STARTING   AFRESH 

The  answer  was  that  the  Swedish  nurse,  who  had 
proved  such  a  devoted  attendant,  was  with  her,  and 
that  her  physical  strength  seemed  completely  re- 
stored. 

"  As  clever  and  capable  a  business  woman  as 
ever,  but  cold  and  hard  —  it  seemed  as  though  all 
feeling  had  been  killed  in  her,"  ended  the  man,  who 
had  been  her  personal  friend  for  years. 

"  What  next  ? "  Gilbert  said  to  himself,  as  he 
strolled  away  from  this  interview,  with  a  depressed 
purposelessness  upon  him.  And  then  in  the  stale 
heat  of  the  city  streets,  he  found  himself  thinking 
of  the  westerly  breezes  on  the  La  Have  River;  of 
the  sailboat  where  she  had  sat  opposite  to  him; 
of  the  sand-bar  and  the  veranda  with  their  memo- 
ries. Should  he  go  there  alone  and  live  over  again 
those  spring  days?  But  a  second  manlier  thought 
came  to  him.  Instead  of  hugging  the  remnants  of 
a  fruitless  past,  he  would  try  to  forget  feeling  in 
work.  He  had  the  money  now  to  take  him  abroad, 
and  he  would  go  to  Vienna,  where  some  wonderful 
experiments  in  his  own  line  of  study  were  being 
carried  on.  In  this  impersonal  work  his  mind  would 
recover  its  focus,  and  he  would  be  able  to  see  things 
in  their  proper  perspective,  so  that,  when  ready  to 
go  to  England,  he  could  rely  more  upon  his  own 
judgment  as  to  his  claims  to  his  share  of  his  grand- 
father's estate. 

There  was  one  thing  to  be  done  first.  He  must 
return  to  Nova  Scotia,  and  gather  some  facts  about 
Jonathan  Bauer  after  he  became  a  prominent  man. 
and  try  to  find  out  whether  there  seemed  any  founda- 
tion for  Isaac's  strange  tales  of  the  foreign  wife. 
This  surely  could  be  no  very  difficult  task  in  a  small 

163 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

provincial  city,  where  tales  of  old  families  were 
likely  to  be  current  for  a  longer  space  than  twenty 
years. 

And  so,  it  was  with  a  well-defined  purpose  that 
Gilbert  ended  one  chapter  of  his  life,  and  turned  on 
to  the  next. 

He  was  not  entirely  without  acquaintances  in  the 
town  where  the  tragic  home-bringing  of  Andrew 
Broderick  had  caused  him  to  invoke  both  legal  and 
medical  aid. 

It  was  the  jovial,  talkative  old  doctor  whom,  as  an 
evident  mine  of  past  gossip,  he  chose  to  start,  by 
mention  of  the  local  La  Have  traditions  on  the  his- 
tory of  the  Bauer  family. 

"  Told  queer  tales  about  old  Jonathan  Bauer,  did 
they?"  the  old  gentleman  chuckled.  "Well,  I 
doubt  if  there's  a  saint  in  heaven  that  our  country- 
town  loafers  couldn't  tell  queer  tales  about  if  they 
chose,  especially  when  it's  some  one  who  got  rich 
by  holding  his  tongue  and  working  while  they  were 
talking." 

"  But  they  called  him  a  pirate,"  Gilbert  put  in. 

The  doctor  gave  his  jolly  laugh.  "A  pirate!  Oh, 
yes,  I  dare  say  they  did !  There's  no  doubt  that  in 
his  young  days  the  old  man  did  a  bit  of  privateering 
on  the  Spanish  Main,  during  some  of  those  South 
American  wars.  I've  heard  him  myself  tell  some 
funny  tales  of  church  plundering  done  then  —  all 
fair  in  war,  you  know,  and  he  never  made  any  secret 
of  it.  But  his  real  fortune  —  and  mind  you  it  was 
a  big  one  —  was  made  during  the  Civil  War,  be- 
cause, while  all  the  rest  of  us  were  going  wild  over 
the  romantic  Southerners,  he  had  the  sense  to  see 
that  the  North  must  win  in  the  end,  and  speculated 

164 


STARTING    AFRESH 

accordingly  in  New  York.  Ah,  if  only  Providence 
had  given  me  a  head  like  his !  "  and  the  doctor  gave 
a  passing  sigh  to  lost  opportunities. 

"His  second  wife  was  a  foreigner,  I  believe?" 
Gilbert  ventured,  and  the  tale  was  taken  up  with 
all  an  old  man's  love  of  recalling  the  past. 

"  Yes,  yes,  a  foreigner  —  French  West  Indies 
they  said  she  came  from.  I  was  but  a  boy  when  I 
saw  her  first,  a  pretty,  black-eyed  girl,  looking  more 
like  his  daughter  than  his  wife.  Quaint,  broken  Eng- 
lish she  spoke,  then,  indeed,  always,  for  the  matter 
of  that.  Ah,  she  was  a  dainty  sight  in  the  reds  and 
yellows  she  loved  to  wear,  and  I  fancy  she  might 
have  done  damage  to  some  of  us  young  fellows' 
hearts,  if  old  Bauer  hadn't  kept  a  pretty  strict  hand 
on  her." 

"  Did  he?  "  Gilbert  asked,  idly,  as  though  humour- 
ing the  doctor's  talkativeness. 

"  Strict  enough,  though  always  in  that  grim, 
humourous  way  he  had,  as  though  after  all  he  had 
the  best  of  the  joke.  And  he  generally  had,  too! 
But  as  he  got  old,  and  she  lost  her  looks,  and  took 
a  sort  of  witchlike  air,  I've  seen  him  watch  her  as 
though  he  might  be  half  afraid  of  her.  I'm  certain 
that  in  his  last  illness  he  shrank  from  her." 

The  doctor  was  now  speaking  meditatively,  as 
though  forgetful  of  his  listener,  and  Gilbert's  heart 
beat  faster  at  this  corroboration  of  old  Isaac's  words. 

"  Were  you  with  him  when  he  died  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  his  doctor,  but  I  was  not  there  at  the 
last.  It  was  one  of  those  cases  of  the  last  of  an 
iron  constitution,  when  the  patient  might  hang  on 
for  weeks,  or  go  out  like  a  snuffed  candle;  and  it 
proved  the  latter.  There  was  a  great  storm  that 

165 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 

night,  I  remember,  and  when  they  fetched  me  to 
the  house,  there  was  a  big  pine-tree  fallen  across 
the  door-step." 

Gilbert  saw  that  the  speaker  was  under  the  spell 
of  the  past,  and  forebore  to  distract  him.  To  his 
disappointment,  however,  the  thread  seemed  to  have 
broken,  and  the  doctor  shook  himself  and  spoke 
more  vigorously : 

"  But  these  are  old  tales  to  be  bothering  you  with, 
and  all  the  family  is  gone  from  these  parts  now. 
The  son  was  dull  and  stupid,  and  married  the  dull 
and  stupid  daughter  of  an  army  colonel  with  good 
connections,  and  what  with  his  money  and  her 
family,  they've  managed  to  become  swells  in  Eng- 
land, bought  a  big  place,  and  all  that.  I  daresay 
that  their  son  or  daughter  may  make  a  titled  mar- 
riage. And  so,  you  see,  even  an  out-of-the-way 
corner  like  this  has  its  share  in  the  evolution  of  the 
English  aristocracy.  There,  I've  surely  bored  you 
enough  for  to-night." 

There  were  endless  more  questions  that  Gilbert 
would  have  liked  to  have  put,  but  he  did  not  wish 
to  arouse  the  shrewd  old  man's  suspicions  as  to  his 
interest.  What  he  had  already  heard  had  deepened 
every  impression  received  from  Isaac.  With  a 
friendly  farewell  he  left  the  doctor,  and  the  next 
morning  walked  past  the  square  white  wooden  house 
behind  its  elm-trees,  where  some  of  the  story  of  his 
race  had  been  enacted. 

Eminently  respectable  and  prosaic  it  looked  now 
in  the  morning  sunshine,  and  yet  his  thoughts  were 
on  that  loveless  death-bed,  the  witch-like  figure,  the 
midnight  storm,  and  the  fallen  tree  on  the  threshold. 

166 


STARTING    AFRESH 

For  all  that,  his  heart  was  the  lighter  for  his  talk 
with  the  doctor. 

The  more  commonplace  version  made  his  mother's 
tale  seem  all  the  more  the  imaginations  of  a  morbidly 
conscientious  mind.  He  could  not  but  feel  that  in 
voluntarily  placing  their  lives  under  the  grim  shadow 
of  poverty,  his  parents  had  acted  unfairly  to  him. 
He  had  not  even  had  the  choice  of  the  stern  joy  of 
renunciation.  All  that  had  been  most  sordid  in  his 
years  of  early  struggle  seemed  to  rise  up  now  .to 
taunt  him  with  its  uselessness.  Worse  than  all,  was 
the  knowledge  that  if  he  had  been  a  prosperous  man 
in  the  days  when  he  had  first  met  Isabel  Steele,  there 
would  have  been  no  frustration  to  their  mutual 
attraction. 

But  the  past  was  the  past,  and  it  remained  for  him 
now  to  make  the  best  of  the  present.  Young  and 
strong,  he  walked  in  the  light  of  the  sun.  with  hands 
and  brain  trained  to  noble  work. 

The  world  had  a  thousand  interests  for  one  who 
could  see  them,  and  he  would  fare  forth  and  behold 
its  wonders. 


167 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

BY   THE   THAMES 

WHEN  fate  has  put  a  full  stop  in  our  lives 
the  natural  instinct  of  the  healthy  mind 
is  to  look  round  for  material  with  which 
to  begin  a  new  sentence. 

When  the  mediaeval  knight  was  disappointed  in 
his  lady-love,  he  went  a-crusading,  and  when  the 
freebooter  found  life  hollow  he  made  a  tour  of  the 
neighbouring  highroads.  Nowadays,  the  love-lorn 
housemaid  gives  warning,  the  subaltern  exchanges 
to  another  regiment,  the  millionaire  gets  him  a 
steam-yacht  and  goes  around  the  world.  It  is  the 
old  cry,  with  various  translations,  of  the  Psalmist  — 
"  Oh,  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that  I  might 
flee  away  and  be  at  rest !  " 

Upon  Isabel  Broderick,  sitting  dry-eyed  in  her 
desolate  home,  the  yearning  was  strong,  although 
she  knew  that  wherever  she  might  go,  she  would 
take  with  her  the  same  acute  sense  of  loss,  the  same 
hunger  for  the  comfort  she  might  not  know. 

There  would,  however,  be  relief  in  putting  space 
between  herself  and  those  dread  asylum  walls  which 
seemed  to  come  between  her  and  the  sunshine.  Not 
even  Gilbert  Clinch  in  the  necessary  intimacy  of  those 
tragic  days  had  guessed  at  the  abhorrence  for  her 

168 


BY   THE   THAMES 

husband  which  had  possessed  her  ever  since  she  had 
gathered  her  child's  limp  little  body  into  her  arms. 

His  name  —  his  money  —  everything  that  had 
been  his,  she  longed  to  cast  away  from  her,  and  to 
go  out  into  the  world,  her  own  old  self  once  more. 

But,  even  in  those  first  days  after  her  child's 
funeral,  she  had  the  sense  to  see  that  the  disloyalty 
of  such  a  course  was  impossible  to  her.  When 
Andrew  Broderick  had  been  sane,  he  had  given  her 
his  best;  the  ungrudging  use  of  his  large  income, 
his  well-known  family  name  and  social  standing,  all 
the  advantages  of  the  place  which  he  had  made  for 
himself  in  the  art  world  of  Paris  and  New  York. 

All  this  he  had  given,  never  concealing  the  terrible 
drawback  that  went  with  it,  and  she  had  accepted 
his  gift  with  open  eyes;  what  right  had  she  to 
complain  when  that  one  drawback  had  made  her  a 
bankrupt  in  life's  lottery ! 

Throughout  the  past  terrible  year  of  the  gradual 
development  of  her  husband's  insanity  Isabel  had 
always  kept  before  her  eyes  the  conviction  that  she 
had  a  debt  to  pay  to  him,  and  it  was  this  conviction 
that  had  supplied  the  fortitude  at  which  Gilbert  had 
so  often  wondered. 

Now,  as  in  those  first  weeks  of  solitude,  she  stood 
facing  a  dark  abyss  of  self-despair  in  which  she 
saw  herself  indirectly  guilty  of  her  child's  death,  she 
searched  desperately  for  some  means  of  atonement. 

Hers  was  a  nature  that  must  turn  to  action  for 
relief,  and  to  such  natures  high  thoughts  come. 
Gradually  the  idea  dawned  upon  her  that  if  she 
had  failed  to  save  the  man  from  his  hereditary  doom 
she  might  at  least  try  to  rescue  the  name  of  the 
artist  from  oblivion. 

169 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 

It  was  an  idea  born  of  the  many  hours  during  the 
past  months  when,  looking  at  his  weird,  powerful 
picture,  she  had  comforted  herself  with  the  thought 
that,  if  the  worst  came,  it  would  always  be  a  monu- 
ment to  the  artist's  memory. 

Its  destruction  had  been  a  blow  hard  to  bear,  and 
this  new,  wild  hope  that  she  herself  might  attempt 
its  re-creation  dazzled  her  with  a  fresh  purpose  in 
life. 

It  was  wild,  but  still  perhaps  not  so  wild  as  it 
seemed.  It  had  always  been  Broderick's  habit  to 
make  numerous  smaller  studies  from  which  he 
painted  his  pictures,  and  she  knew  that  these  studies 
for  his  last  work  were  all  carefully  packed  in  the 
Boston  studio.  And  she  herself  had  worked  for 
days  at  similar  studies,  as  an  excuse  to  keep  guard 
over  him.  From  the  first  he  had  been  her  teacher 
in  her  work,  and  now  she  had  followed  him  with 
half-conscious  imitation  until  all  the  technique  of 
the  picture  had  become  familiar  to  her. 

Yes,  she  would  attempt  it.  She  would  take  these 
studies,  and  leaving  behind  all  familiar  faces  and 
scenes,  she  would  go  abroad  and  concentrate  body 
and  soul  on  the  task  of  reproducing  the  lost  master- 
piece. 

She  fully  understood  the  difficulties  of  what  she 
was  undertaking,  but  then,  in  the  "  impasse  "  to 
which  her  life  had  come,  the  tangibleness  of  those 
difficulties  had  supplied  a  comforting  force  of  resist- 
ance. 

Wealth  helps  to  make  all  action  prompt  and  easy, 
and  so,  when  the  full  completion  of  August  was 
ripening  into  September,  Mrs.  Broderick  inspected 
and  decided  on  the  villa  of  Heathholm,  on  the  hill 

170 


BY    THE   THAMES 

above  the  Thames.  Cookham  Dene,  the  postal 
address,  was  a  village  by  right  of  its  church,  post- 
office,  and  public-house,  but  otherwise  a  mere  net- 
work of  bowery  gardens,  set  amid  lanes  that  rambled 
up  slopes  of  open  patches  of  gorse,  by  plum  and 
apple  orchards  to  the  wide-stretching  Berkshire 
beech  woods. 

Every  here  and  there  through  the  trees  could  be 
seen  a  labourer's  cottage,  sometimes  transformed  by 
the  addition  of  a  studio  as  big  as  itself  into  an  artist's 
abode. 

Everything  was  decidedly  up-hill  or  down-hill  in 
this  region,  and  Heathholm  clung  to  the  steep  bank, 
its  old-fashioned  garden  sloping  down  the  hill,  bor- 
dered by  tall  hollyhocks  and  rose-bushes,  shaded  by 
a  group  of  fine  walnut-trees. 

There  was  a  comfortable  air  of  age  about  the 
place,  due  to  the  fact  of  the  house  being  built  on 
the  site  of  an  old  cottage,  leaving  the  garden  undis- 
turbed. It  had  been  built  by  a  man  in  the  first  suc- 
cess of  art  and  love,  and  he  had  only  lived  there 
two  years  when,  wife  and  child  dead,  he  had  broken 
down  in  his  work  and  desperately  gone  abroad  in 
search  of  a  new  start  in  life.  When  Isabel  first  saw 
Heathholm  the  hollyhocks  had  been  still  ablaze  in 
the  garden,  the  air  heavy  with  the  scent  of  ripe  fruit 
in  the  orchards  below,  but  the  rich  sights  and  scents 
of  the  season  could  as  yet  bring  her  no  joy.  Day 
by  day  the  peaceful  autumnal  beauty  deepened  in 
intensity  over  the  riverside  meadows  and  upland 
heaths  and  beech  woods,  but  the  great  charm  to 
her  of  the  surrounding  world  lay  in  its  utter  unlike- 
ness  to  that  Northern  seashore  where  three  months 
before  her  child  had  played  beside  her  on  the  sands. 

171 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

The  peace  of  that  quiet  English  landscape  was  all 
the  more  to  her  because  it  had  no  key  to  unlock  the 
inner  doors  of  her  soul.  It  was  something  apart 
from  her  world,  the  world  in  which  she  had  been 
really  alive.  These  thatched  roofs  showing  through 
the  trees,  sheltered  peasants  living  much  the  same 
lives,  thinking  much  the  same  thoughts  as  did  their 
grandparents  in  the  days  of  the  Georges.  These 
winding  lanes  had  been  trodden  into  paths  by  the 
bare  feet  of  wandering  friars,  by  the  heavy  boot  of 
Cromwell's  soldiers.  These  big,  fair,  plainly  dressed 
men  and  women  who  glanced  at  her  curiously  as 
they  drove  past  her  on  the  road  in  well-appointed 
carriages  were  separated  from  her  by  nationality  and 
all  that  it  entails.  None  of  these  people  or  things 
could  come  near  enough  to  her  life  to  be  real. 

The  very  quiet-voiced,  deferential  English  serv- 
ants who  waited  upon  her,  had,  under  their  polite- 
ness, a  chilly  air  of  being  on  the  defensive  against 
any  possible  eccentricity  on  the  part  of  their  Ameri- 
can mistress. 

"  Not  but  what  she  doesn't  seem  just  as  much  a 
real  lady  as  any  as  I've  ever  lived  with,"  she  heard 
one  of  them  confiding  to  the  butcher  boy  over  the 
fence,  —  "  more  than  some  perhaps,  seeing  as  she 
never  shows  no  tiresome  interest  in  our  affairs, 
asking  if  we've  been  to  church  and  bothering  us 
with  that  nuisance  of  a  Girl's  Friendly.  But  then, 
there's  the  most  every-day,  civilised  things  she  don't 
know  nothing  about,  such  as  when  quarter-day  is, 
and  what  one  does  on  Bank  holidays,  so  she  may  be 
queer  after  all.  One  never  can  tell,  can  one?  " 

Yes,  she  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land  and  if 
she  was  desperately,  heart-sickeningly  lonely,  it  was 

172 


BY   THE   THAMES 

with  a  loneliness  that  no  outside  influence  could  have 
touched. 

There  was  one  friendly  presence  left  to  her  in 
Elsa,  the  Swedish  nurse,  now  her  own  maid.  She 
had  at  first  intended  to  leave  her  behind,  but  Elsa's 
stolid  determination  had  been  too  much  for  her, 
backed  as  it  was  by  the  earnest  representations  of 
her  old  business  man.  Besides  she  did  not  wish  to 
be  thought  any  more  eccentric  than  need  be,  and 
she  knew  that  it  was  more  seemly  for  her  to  have 
an  attendant  with  her. 

Many  a  time  in  her  new  loneliness  she  was  com- 
forted by  feeling  Elsa's  silent,  dog-like  fidelity  near 
her. 

And  then  she  got  to  work,  sparing  no  detail  that 
could  help  her,  filling  the  small  conservatory  with 
out-of-season  bloom  from  the  best  London  florists, 
getting  over  from  Paris  a  model  whom  she  remem- 
bered and  thought  suitable  for  the  half-veiled  figure 
in  the  picture.  She  was  careful  too  of  her  own 
health,  painting  in  the  midday  hours  of  the  short- 
ening days,  walking  or  driving  on  foggy  mornings 
or  in  afternoon  twilight. 

At  first  she  had  to  force  herself  into  a  work  which 
seemed  like  trying  to  revive  the  dead,  but  soon  the 
reward  of  effort  came,  and  she  worked  for  the  joy 
of  creating,  the  most  arduous  but  the  purest  joy 
given  to  God's  children. 

This  dream-life  lasted  through  the  autumn  months 
of  fogs  and  a  rare  sunshine,  and  experienced  its  first 
interruption  on  a  fine  December  morning  that  had 
all  the  deceptive  spring  beauty  that  makes  an  Eng- 
lish winter  endurable. 

She  had  driven  herself  in  her  little  two- wheeled 

173 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

cart  down  into  the  market-town  to  lay  in  a  supply 
of  magazines  at  the  stationer's  in  the  High  Street. 

In  the  shop  she  noticed  a  slim  girl,  smartly 
dressed  in  rough  red  tweeds. 

"  One  of  the  dwellers  behind  park  gates,"  she  said 
to  herself,  with  the  casually  reoccurring  sense  of 
amusement  that  she,  Mrs.  Broderick,  should  not 
know  the  most  desirable  people  in  any  neighbour- 
hood. Her  errand  done,  she  turned  and  found  her- 
self directly  facing  the  stranger  and  looking  into 
the  eyes  of  a  friend. 

Years  ago,  before  her  marriage,  when  she  had 
first  gone  abroad  to  study  art,  Isabel  had  spent  some 
summer  months  in  a  Normandy  village,  still  cheap 
and  unfashionable.  In  the  hotel  she  had  struck  up 
a  friendship  with  a  lank,  overgrown  schoolgirl,  sent 
there  with  her  governess  after  an  attack  of  scarlet 
fever. 

The  governess,  being  a  gloomily  selfish  creature, 
the  girl,  Margaret  Nugent-Barr  by  name,  had 
seemed  forlorn  and  had  attached  herself  to  Isabel 
with  that  fancy  which  girls  often  take  to  those  three 
or  four  years  older  than  themselves.  She  had  fol- 
lowed her  about,  content  to  sit  beside  her  while  she 
painted,  quick  to  learn  when  she  might  chatter  and 
when  she  must  be  silent,  walking  beside  her  over  the 
cliffs  and  gathering  her  great  bunches  of  wild- 
flowers. 

When  they  had  parted  Margaret  had  wept  stormy 
tears,  but  Isabel  had  heard  nothing  more  of  her 
until  now,  when  looking  down  into  an  oval  face  of 
a  pale  creamy  tint,  with  great  dark  eyes,  she  recog- 
nised in  the  smartly  dressed  young  lady  the  lank 
little  Meg  of  the  Normandy  seashore. 

174 


BY   THE   THAMES 

Each  looked  in  the  other's  face  in  a  momentary 
hesitation,  and  then,  almost  simultaneously,  came 
the  dawning  smile  of  greeting  and  the  words: 

"Miss  Steele!" 

"  Little  Meg !  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss 
Nugent-Barr !  " 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter !  But  however  did  you 
come  to  drop  down  into  this  little  English  corner? 
Perhaps  you  have  married  an  Englishman  ?  "  was 
the  eager  response,  as  Margaret's  slim  hand  grasped 
the  larger  one  in  a  cordial  pressure. 

"  No,  my  husband  was  an  American,  and  my 
name  is  Mrs.  Broderick.  I  have  been  living  up  at 
Cookham  Dene  —  Heathholm  is  the  name  of  the 
place  —  since  September,"  Isabel  answered,  smiling 
down  into  the  face  that  since  she  had  seen  it  had 
come  into  its  woman's  full  inheritance  of  beauty. 

"  Since  September !  It's  odd  that  we  have  not 
come  across  each  other  before,  for  we  live  at  Monk's 
Grange.  You  know  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  is  it  not  all  down  in  Dickens's  Guide, 
and  haven't  I  seen  the  substantial  statue  of  your 
ghost  on  her  tomb  in  the  little  church !  Are  you  a 
descendant  of  hers  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  goodness !  I  don't  think  she  would 
make  a  nice  ancestress.  Though  of  course  it  would 
be  much  grander  to  belong  to  the  original  old  family 
instead  of  being  newcomers  as  we  are.  I  must  warn 
you  that  we  are  not  the  genuine  ancestral  growth 
of  the  soil,  but  only  importations  on  the  strength 
of  our  money." 

Though  she  laughed  as  she  spoke,  something  made 
Isabel  guess  that  the  point  might  be  a  sore  one.  so 
she  answered,  quickly : 

175 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  I  think  in  that  case  you  are  likely  to  be  less 
mouldy.  Things  don't  always  improve  with  age, 
you  know." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not,"  the  other  answered,  half- 
absently.  She  was  debating  the  phrase  "  my  hus- 
band was  an  American,"  and  wondering  if  it  implied 
widowhood. 

"  But  tell  me  about  yourself,"  she  went  on.  "  Are 
you  an  artist  still  and  have  you  a  lot  of  people  up 
there  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  artist  still,  and  I  live  all  alone,"  Isabel 
answered,  quietly,  something  in  her  voice  that 
checked  further  questioning. 

Margaret  had  already  noticed  that  Mrs.  Broder- 
ick's  well-made  dress  was  all  of  black,  and  this 
settled  it.  If  she  lived  alone  at  Heathholm  she 
must  be  a  widow  comfortably  off,  and  comfortably- 
off  widows  are  pleasant  people  to  know. 

Margaret  had  that  taste  for  prosperous  friends 
which  is  such  an  important  factor  to  success  in  life. 

'  Your  being  alone  is  all  the  more  reason  for  my 
inflicting  my  society  upon  you,  and  I  shall  bother 
you  just  as  I  did  years  ago,"  she  said,  with  ready 
tact. 

Isabel  was  touched  by  the  girl's  friendliness.  She 
knew  that  when  the  English  foot  is  on  its  native 
heath  the  English  welcome  to  strangers  is  not  apt 
to  be  enthusiastic.  "  There's  a  stranger,  heave  a 
rock  at  him,"  applies  in  more  countries  than  one. 

And  so  there  was  gratitude  in  her  face  and  voice 
as  she  answered : 

"  It  will  indeed  be  pleasant  to  have  you  come.  I 
have  been  very  solitary." 

176 


BY   THE   THAMES 

Why  had  a  woman  so  cut  herself  off  from  her 
friends,  Margaret  wondered,  even  as  she  answered : 

"  Then  you  mustn't  be  so  any  longer.  Is  that 
smart  little  trap  at  the  door  yours?  Well,  then, 
I  think  you  might  offer  to  give  me  a  lift.  I  came 
for  a  constitutional,  but  the  mud  is  more  than  I 
reckoned  on." 

Presently  they  were  speeding  down  the  quiet, 
supernaturally  trim  and  tidy  High  Street,  out  over 
the  bridge  across  the  river,  rolling  dark  and  full 
from  recent  rains,  and  along  the  flat  bit  of  road 
that  crossed  the  meadows. 

"  Our  ancestral  domain,  at  least  ancestral  in  so 
far  that  I  hope  it  may  go  down  to  my  brother  Jack," 
Margaret  said,  with  a  light  wave  of  her  hand 
toward  the  landscape.  "  By  the  bye,  I'd  like  you 
to  meet  Jack.  He's  such  a  downright  jolly  old 
dear  that  you  couldn't  help  liking  him.  May  we 
ride  up  to  see  you  to-morrow  about  tea-time  ?  " 

Isabel  was  a  bit  startled,  for  she  had  not  reckoned 
on  more  new  acquaintances  than  Margaret,  but  still 
it  was  natural  enough  that  the  girl  should  like  to 
ride  with  her  brother,  and  after  all  he  seemed  to 
be  a  mere  boy. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  if  he  would  care  to  come, 
bring  him,  certainly." 

"  Oh,  he'd  love  it,  I  know.  Don't  bother  to  drive 
up  the  avenue,  for  my  mother's  in  bed  and  there's 
no  one  else  at  home.  Just  let  me  out  at  the  stile 
and  I'll  run  up  the  path.  Thanks,  until  to-morrow, 
then.  Come,  Mr.  Tomkins,"  and  she  and  her  lively 
fox-terrier  vanished  into  the  bushes. 


177 


CHAPTER    XX. 

JACK 

THE  next  day  Isabel  found  that  she  worked 
with  better  heart  for  the  knowledge  that  the 
twilight  time  would  bring  her  some  other 
society  than  her  own. 

That  twilight  hour  of  lassitude  was  the  one  in 
which  she  found  it  hardest  to  keep  memories  at  bay. 

It  was  pleasant,  too,  to  look  around  on  the  costly 
simplicity  of  her  drawing-room  when  the  western 
light  struggled  with  the  leaping  flames,  and  to  feel 
that  her  visitors  must  be  favourably  impressed  with 
her  surroundings. 

A  door  opened  down  into  the  small  conservatory, 
crowded  with  bloom,  and  the  scent  of  lilies  and 
roses  stole  in  like  the  breath  of  summer.  It  was  all 
a  suitable  setting  for  the  tall  woman  in  her  Paris 
tea-gown  of  gray  velvet,  the  statuesque  folds  of 
which  were  the  work  of  a  master-hand. 

Jack  Nugent-Barr,  home  on  Christmas  leave  from 
Dublin,  had  grumbled  a  bit  at  being  taken  to  call 
upon  an  American  artist.  Still,  he  had  a  habit  of 
yielding  to  Meg's  demands  in  unimportant  things, 
and  it  was  a  non-hunting  day  and  so  he  went,  growl- 
ing amiably  the  while. 

"  Your  geese  are  apt  to  be  swans,  you  know,  Meg. 
178 


JACK 

I've  seen  these  women  artists,  sitting  around  the 
banks  under  umbrellas  like  toadstools,  and  I  can't 
say  I  ever  fancied  their  looks  much.  Their  hair 
never  looked  brushed,  and  they  had  horrible  aprons 
on." 

Meg  laughed  confidently. 

"  Wait  till  you  see  Mrs.  Broderick.  She's  differ- 
ent. She's  an  American,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I've  seen  lots  of  Americans,"  Jack  went 
on  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  Girls  with  snappy  black 
eyes,  and  what  the  novels  call  a  '  vivacious  '  manner, 
and  always  wanting  you  to  argue  about  things,  you 
know.  I  remember  at  the  Scovills'  dance  one  of 
them  wanted  me  to  discuss  England's  policy  in 
Egypt." 

Again  Meg  laughed.     "  Wait  and  see." 

And  Jack  did  see  when  he  stood  before  that  lady, 
thoroughbred  from  the  top  coil  of  her  burnished 
chestnut  hair  to  the  tip  of  the  gray  suede  slipper 
showing  under  her  dress. 

There  was  no  vivacity  or  eagerness  here,  rather, 
over  the  graciousness  of  her  welcome  there  was  a 
film  of  vagueness  as  of  ever-dominant  preoccupation, 
a  vagueness  that  matched  the  shadow  in  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Broderick  read  the  admiration  in  the  frank, 
blue  eyes,  and  straightway  took  a  great  liking  to 
the  big,  fair-haired  young  fellow  with  that  honest 
touch  of  shyness  over  the  somewhat  stolid  self-re- 
liance of  his  manner. 

Brother  and  sister  could  not  have  belonged  to 
more  various  types,  and  yet  there  was  evidently  a 
real  comradeship  between  them.  Meg  looked  at 
him  with  pride  as  she  said  : 

"  This  is  my  brother  Jack,  otherwise  Lieutenant 

179 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Eustace  Nugent-Barr,  of  Her  Majesty's  Death  or 
Glory  Hussars,  and  he  only  condescended  to  come 
and  pay  a  visit  with  his  sister  because  it's  an  off 
day  for  hunting." 

"  I  expect  Mrs.  Broderick  knows  you  better  than 
to  believe  all  your  statements,"  Jack  retorted. 

"  It's  an  awful  pity,"  he  went  on  to  Isabel,  "  that 
Meg  hadn't  the  sense  to  find  you  out  before.  But 
I  dare  say  you  have  other  friends  in  the  neighbour- 
hood?" 

"  Not  one,"  she  said.  "  But  then  I  came  here  for 
solitude,  and  I  must  say  that  I  have  had  it." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  have  a  dear  place  up  here," 
Meg  put  in,  as  she  nibbled  at  a  little  pasty,  far 
beyond  the  scope  of  the  Monk's  Grange  cook.  "  I 
do  wish  that  the  old  monks  had  understood  the 
joy  of  these  heights  instead  of  our  aguish  meadows 
and  damp  cellars." 

"  Both  of  which  had  their  uses,"  said  Jack.  "  The 
meadows  were  as  convenient  for  fish-ponds  as  the 
cellars  were  for  a  tenant  backward  in  his  rent,  or 
a  Jew  who  wouldn't  negotiate  a  loan." 

"  You  must  have  been  reading  '  Ivanhoe  '  again," 
Isabel  suggested. 

"  Jolly  old  books,  weren't  they  ?  "  he  said,  simply. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  had  been  taking  in  the  un- 
mistakable signs  of  wealth.  That  ebony  and  ivory 
cabinet  was  genuine  old  Florentine  work,  she  was 
sure,  and  that  little  silver  coffer  was  a  gem  of  chis- 
elling. Really,  Mrs.  Broderick  must  have  done  well 
for  herself  in  her  marriage,  and  how  satisfactory 
it  was.  She  was  like  a  cat  in  her  love  of  warm  lux- 
urious haunts. 

"  I  don't  wonder  those  mediaeval  people  were  al- 
180 


JACK 

ways  poisoning  and  stabbing  each  other,"  she  put 
in.  "  I  should  do  just  the  same  if  I  didn't  live 
in  the  sunshine  and  fresh  air.  When  the  evil  spirit 
enters  into  me,  I  ride  all  over  the  country  until  it 
is  driven  out." 

Isabel  smiled  at  her  as  one  might  at  a  child. 

"  I  hope  that  doesn't  often  happen,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  intermittently,"  was  the  careless  answer. 
"  It  comes  on  oftener  when  I'm  with  Granny  than 
when  I'm  at  home.  When  I  get  to  Florence  among 
all  those  priests  and  fusty  old  dowagers,  and  some- 
times can't  ride  or  play  golf  for  a  week  or  so,  I 
feel  as  though  I  should  scream." 

"  Try  dumb-bells,"  Jack  suggested. 

"  But  why  do  you  go  to  Florence?  "  Isabel  asked. 

"  Because  Granny  chooses  to  spend  her  winter 
there  and  because  Granny  seems  to  have  the  first 
right  of  possession.  My  parents  own  me  secondly, 
and  I  myself  come  in  as  a  poor  third.  Granny's 
in  Brighton  now,  but  as  soon  as  she  decides  to  start, 
she  claims  me." 

"  Still,  Florence  is  pleasant  enough  and  I  dare 
say  you  like  the  change." 

"  Of  course  she  does.  You  never  saw  any  one 
get  bored  so  quickly  without  it.  And  if  it  weren't 
for  the  old  lady,  she  wouldn't  be  such  a  smartly 
got-up  young  lady  as  she  is." 

"  Oh,  that's  because  she  wants  to  marry  me  to 
an  Italian  duke.  But  she's  not  going  to,  all  the 
same." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  Keep  a  lookout  for 
her  conversion  in  the  World  sometime  in  Lent, 
Mrs.  Broderick,"  Jack  said,  teasingly. 

"  And  you,  do  you  go  to  Florence?  "  Isabel  asked. 
181 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Meg  laughed  as  if  at  an  incongruous  vision. 

"  Not  I,  thank  goodness !  Even  though  I'm  toil- 
ing at  drills  in  the  rain,  at  the  Curragh." 

"  At  drills !    Hunting  three  days  a  week !  " 

"  And  the  Lord  be  praised  for  the  same !  But 
talking  of  hunting,  have  you  ever  tried  it?"  he 
said  to  Isabel.  "  Do  let  me  find  you  a  horse  suitable 
for  the  country  and  take  you  out,"  he  pleaded. 

Isabel  had  ridden  adventurously  during  a  Mexican 
winter,  and  the  thought  of  knowing  such  joy  again 
brought  a  quick  leap  of  youth  to  her  pulses. 

Jack  caught  the  flash  in  her  eyes,  and  said,  joy- 
fully : 

"  You  will,  I  know." 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  mustn't  attempt  it.  It  would  take  too 
much  of  the  energy  I  need  for  other  things.  It's 
delightful  to  come  home  tired  all  over,  but  that's 
not  the  way  to  do  brain-work." 

"Brain-work?"  Jack  asked,  puzzled.  He  could 
not  associate  the  leisurely  elegance  of  this  woman 
with  his  idea  of  brain-work. 

"  I  mean  my  painting,"  she  explained,  with  an 
apparent  guess  at  his  perplexity. 

"  But  that's  drudgery,"  he  expostulated,  "  and 
surely  you  work  for  your  own  pleasure,  not  for 
a  settled  task  ?  " 

"  I  work  for  my  own  pleasure  and  for  a  settled 
task  both,  and  I  must  keep  on  until  it  is  finished. 
That  is  what  I  came  here  for." 

There  was  some  unknown  feeling  in  her  voice 
which  checked  his  remonstrances,  and  presently  his 
sister  said : 


182 


JACK 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us  what  you  are  painting,  and  let 
us  see  your  studio,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day,  I'm  afraid.  They've  been  doing 
some  work  there,  and  the  place  is  all  upset,"  Mrs. 
Broderick  answered  to  the  last  question,  and  ignor- 
ing the  other  request. 

This  was  the  first  of  several  excuses  until  they 
learned  to  see  that  they  were  not  intended  to  ask 
again. 

As  Jack  Nugent-Barr  rode  home  beside  his  sister 
through  the  bare  woodlands,  under  the  wan  light 
of  a  young  moon,  his  brain  was  somewhat  in  a 
whirl  over  the  vision  of  a  kind  face,  and  a  gray 
figure  encircled  by  the  orange  light. 

What  a  joy  it  would  be  to  bring  a  smile  oftener 
around  that  grave  mouth,  to  come  home  tired  and 
sit  down  by  the  fire  beside  such  a  figure. 

At  this  point  Meg  broke  in  with  the  incongruous 
remark : 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  bit  of  a  dark  horse,  doesn't 
she?" 

"  A  dark  horse !    What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

Unheeding  the  grimness  of  his  voice,  she  went 
on: 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know,  being  so  well  off  as  she 
seems,  and  coming  here  where  she  doesn't  know  a 
soul,  for  solitude,  as  she  says,  and  working  so  hard, 
and  having  such  smart  clothes  —  " 

But  at  this  point  Jack's  wrath  broke  out. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I'm  not  a  woman  and  haven't  a 
feminine  idea  of  loyalty.  Here  is  this  lady,  who 
has  never  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  look  you 
up,  and  when  you  meet  her  accidentally,  and  invite 
yourself  to  see  her  and  she  gives  you  a  charming 

183 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

welcome,  you  hardly  wait  until  her  door  is  closed 
before  you  call  her  a  dark  horse!  As  I  said,  I'm 
glad  I'm  not  a  woman !  " 

"  Well  you  may  be !  But,  goodness  me,  what  a 
tirade  all  about  nothing!  I  called  her  a  dark  horse 
having  a  delight  in  and  a  keen  scent  for  mysteries, 
and  hoping  to  have  a  heroine  of  romance  for  a 
next-door  neighbour.  It  would  be  such  a  resource, 
you  know.  But,  all  the  same,  I  think  her,  as  I 
always  did,  one  of  the  most  delightful  women  I 
ever  knew.  She  reminds  me  of  Iseult  of  Brittany, 
the  Lady  of  Shalott,  and  all  such  mystical  creatures. 
And  I  tell  you  what,"  she  went  on,  with  a  quick 
glance  to  see  if  Jack's  good-humour  were  restored, 
"  I  was  thinking  that  she  would  be  a  godsend  on 
Christmas  night  among  all  those  stupid  people.  I 
must  impress  father  with  her  grandeur  so  that  he 
won't  make  any  objections." 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  Jack  condescended  to  ap- 
prove, all  unconscious  of  his  sister's  mischievous  face 
in  the  shadows. 

"  It  will  be  great  fun  springing  such  a  mysterious 
beauty  on  Lord  Vernade." 

This  remark  of  Meg's  failed  to  meet  with  the 
approbation  of  the  last. 

"  Oh,  Vernade,"  he  grunted.  "  Why  doesn't  he 
go  back  to  his  excavations  in  Asia  Minor,  or  the 
Greek  Islands,  or  wherever  it  is!  I  hate  to  see  a 
man  who  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  anything  just 
fooling  about." 

"  Well,  but  he  had  fever,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  fever,"  and  in  one  of  the  momentary 
differences  of  opinion  they  rode  on  their  way  in 
silence. 

184 


JACK 

Mr.  Nugent-Barr  was  a  "  dour  "  man,  of  whom 
his  family  stood  somewhat  in  awe.  His  daughter 
was  not  without  influence  over  him,  though,  when 
she  took  the  trouble  to  exert  it,  especially  since  her 
social  success  had  led  her  grandmother  to  spend 
more  money  upon  her  dress  and  upon  taking  her 
about. 

A  few  remarks  casually  dropped  as  to  the  style 
of  Mrs.  Broderick's  establishment  and  Jack's  ad- 
miration for  her  were  sufficient  to  arouse  his  interest. 

Like  his  daughter,  he  had  a  taste  for  the  ac- 
quaintance of  those  rich  in  this  world's  goods,  al- 
though there  was  the  great  difference  that  she  liked 
them  for  the  amusement  and  beauty  with  which  they 
could  surround  themselves  —  he,  for  the  mere  sordid 
neighbourhood  of  riches. 

And  so  when  Mr.  Nugent-Barr  handed  his  wife 
a  list  of  guests  whom  she  was  to  invite,  the  first 
name  that  she  read  was  Isabel's. 

"  Mrs.  Broderick  —  you  mean  Margaret's  Amer- 
ican friend,  my  dear?  "  she  asked,  in  a  feebly  sur- 
prised tone.  She  was  not  expected  to  criticise  her 
husband's  choice  in  the  matter. 

"  I  am  certainly  not  aware  of  any  one  else  of 
that  name.  Are  you,  my  dear  ?  "  was  the  chilly 
reply. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  suppose  not.  Only  it  being  Christmas 
and  her  being  a  stranger  and  an  American,  it 
seemed  —  well,  a  little  unusual,  that  was  all." 

"  I  really  cannot  see  why  her  being  an  American 
should  make  it  unusual  to  invite  her  at  Christmas- 
time. Having  been  in  Boston,  you  are  probably 
aware  that  Americans  are  Christians  ?  "  Mr.  Nugent- 
Barr  retorted,  with  an  elaborate  air  of  patience  that 

185 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

worked  worse  confusion  in  his  wife's  never  over- 
brilliant  wits. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  knew  that,  though  when  Mar- 
garet came  home  talking  so  much  about  this  lady 
I  did  ask  the  rector  about  her  and  he  said  that  he 
had  never  seen  her  in  church,  though  he  was  never 
surprised  now  at  anything  that  artists  did." 

"  You  had  better  advise  the  rector  to  exercise 
a  little  Christian  charity,  my  dear." 

When  Mr.  Nugent-Barr  brought  Christian  charity 
into  play  it  was  usually  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  did  not  require  any  more  substantial  charity 
at  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  but  Mrs.  Broderick  is  a  widow,  and  how 
would  you  like  it  if  she  got  hold  of  Jack?"  the 
mother-hen  fluttered,  brave  for  her  chicks. 

"  How  would  you  like  it  if  some  actress  or  music- 
hall  dancer  got  hold  of  him,  my  dear?"  This 
prospect  was  Mr.  Nugent-Barr's  constant  and  most 
unnecessary  dread,  his  son  not  being  in  the  least 
the  type  that  comes  to  grief  in  that  fashion. 

His  wife  gave  a  feeble  little  squeak  of  dismay. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  hope  you  don't  mean  —  " 

"  I  mean  nothing  save  that  you  should  write  those 
notes  before  the  second  post  goes  out,"  and  he 
walked  off,  leaving  the  poor  lady  to  recover  from 
the  shock  in  dreams  of  what  Jack's  wife  should  be. 
She  saw  in  her  fancy  a  nice  little  pink-and-white 
English  girl,  brought  up  in  a  rectory  or  hall,  lov- 
ing to  teach  in  Sunday  school,  and  —  fondest  hope 
of  all  —  to  make  things  for  bazaars. 

Poor  mothers,  how  they  dream ! 


186 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

CHRISTMAS 

WHEN  Isabel  received  this  much-discussed 
invitation,  she,  as  a  matter  of  course,  sat 
down  to  decline  it,  and  then  a  second 
thought  gave  her  pause  with  "  Why  not?  " 

Too  brave  a  woman  to  have  any  weakness  for 
anniversaries,  she  could  not  but  look  forward  with 
dread  to  the  memories  that  Christmas  would  bring 
of  her  child. 

Day  and  night  she  heard  the  silvery  voice,  calling : 

"  Mummie.  mummie,  come  and  see  what  boofy 
things  Santa  Claus  brought  Boyso!  '*  Day  and 
night  she  felt  the  touch  of  the  soft  hand  on  her 
cheek,  felt  the  warm  little  body  nestling  close  to 
her  own. 

Work  as  hard  as  she  might,  there  were  times  when 
her  powers  of  concentration  failed  her.  She  would 
try  if  going  among  strangers,  and  having  to  laugh 
and  talk  with  them,  might  not  help  her  to  forget. 

And  so,  at  the  same  time  that  she  wrote  a  large 
order  for  toys  to  be  sent  to  a  London  hospital,  she 
sent  for  a  black  lace  dress,  the  advent  of  which  de- 
lighted Elsa. 

The  party  staying  at  Monk's  Grange  consisted 
mostly  of  cousins,  though  there  were  three  army 
youths  over  from  Aldershot,  friends  of  Jack's,  and 

187 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

much  of  the  same  type,  healthily  outdoor  in  their 
tastes,  taking  all  "  the  feasting  and  the  fun  "  that 
came  along,  and  yet  making  ready  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  fashion  for  the  baptism  of  fire  that  they  were 
so  soon  to  meet  on  the  South  African  veldt. 

Two  Nugent  girls,  cousins,  bony  and  neutral- 
tinted  and  aristocratically  inane,  had  been  upsetting 
Margaret's  temper  for  a  week.  Mrs.  Curtis,  another 
cousin,  just  home  with  her  husband  from  three  years 
in  India,  had  all  her  usual  characteristics  of  cheery 
kindliness  emphasised  by  her  delight  in  being  in 
England  again,  and  in  seeing  her  husband  reviving 
from  months  of  invalidism. 

Her  sister,  ordinarily  called  Tommy  Curtis,  with 
a  quaintly  pretty  face,  was  just  one  stage  removed 
from  the  romping  schoolgirl  of  a  year  or  two  earlier. 
The  subs  found  her  delightful,  and  she  and  the  red- 
dest-haired and  most  freckled  of  them  had  already 
started  a  violent  but  unsentimental  flirtation. 

The  rector  and  his  wife,  and  Lord  Vernade,  from 
his  place  up  the  river,  represented  the  local  interest. 

These  people  were  all  gathered  when  Isabel  came 
in,  the  lustreless  black  of  her  dress  setting  off  to 
perfection  her  milky  skin  and  shining  hair.  Through 
this  hair  was  twisted  a  string  of  pearls  in  a  fashion 
of  a  Titian  portrait,  while  another  string  hung  low 
over  her  dress. 

The  sensation  which  her  entrance  caused  was  evi- 
denced by  the  sudden  cessation  in  the  hum  of  talk, 
and  the  admiring  stares  of  the  youths. 

"  Good  heavens,  where  did  such  a  woman  come 
from  ?  "  said  one  of  them  to  the  other. 

"  Those  pearls  are  a  fortune  if  they're  real,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Curtis  to  the  eldest  Miss  Nugent. 

188 


CHRISTMAS 

"  So  this  is  the  surprise  you  warned  me  of,"  said 
Lord  Vernade  to  Margaret. 

'  Yes,  and  she  is  my  own  discovery,  captive  of 
my  bow  and  spear,"  she  answered,  lightly,  as  she 
went  forward  to  welcome  her  friend  and  lead  her 
to  her  mother. 

All  Mrs.  Nugent-Barr's  motherly  misgivings  fled 
before  the  charm  of  the  newcomer's  face,  and  she 
made  anxious  inquiries  as  to  the  amount  of  wraps 
worn  during  the  drive  over  the  hills,  and  if  she  had 
had  a  foot-warmer. 

The  master  of  the  house  was  groaning  in  his 
room  with  an  attack  of  sciatica,  and  his  absence 
did  not  seem  to  affect  the  gaiety  of  the  party. 

Isabel's  attention  had  been  caught  by  the  brilliancy 
of  Margaret's  appearance.  In  a  gauzy  dress  of 
deep  red,  wreathed  round  the  shoulders  with  poppies, 
and  with  their  half-opened  buds  crowning  her  black 
hair,  she  seemed  a  personation  of  the  glow  of 
summer,  and  yet  her  friend  was  conscious  of  that 
half- fanciful  dread  which  poppies  always  gave  her 
now. 

"  The  flowers  of  death,"  came  to  her  mind,  with 
an  echo  of  her  husband's  voice. 

"  I  want  to  introduce  Lord  Vernade  to  you,"  were 
Margaret's  words  that  brought  her  back  to  reality 
again. 

Turning,  she  met  a  pleasant  smile  on  the  pale, 
clear-cut  face,  and  in  the  light  gray  eyes  of  the 
man  whose  lazily  high-bred  aspect  she  had  already 
noticed. 

"  I  hear  that  I  may  claim  to  be  a  neighbour,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  too  bad  that  I  have  made  the  discovery 

189 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

too  late  for  Lady  Vernade  to  call.  She  has  already 
gone  abroad  for  the  winter." 

In  her  life  as  an  unprotected  girl  in  big  cities, 
Isabel  had  faced  such  a  smile  before. 

"  I  fear  the  limits  of  the  neighbourhood  are 
stretched  by  Miss  Nugent-Barr's  charity,"  she  said, 
somewhat  imresponsively. 

But  Lord  Vernade's  cordiality  was  not  so  easily 
checked. 

"  Oh,  you  have  yet  to  learn  our  English  idea  of 
distances,"  he  answered.  "  We  might  have  a  chance 
of  teaching  it  to  you  if  we  were  not  scattering  so 
soon." 

"Are  you  going  to  Rome  now?"  Meg  asked, 
with  interest  in  her  voice.  "  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  stand 
a  whole  winter  of  Roman  society,  though  my  wife 
never  seems  to  get  tired  of  it.  The  yacht  is  at 
Naples,  and  I  shall  take  a  run  out  East  to  see  how 
my  man  is  getting  on  with  his  digging.  Perhaps 
I  shall  find  a  bracelet  of  some  fair  Helen  to  bring 
to  you  in  Florence  later,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of 
old  comradeship,  which  in  such  a  man  gave  Isabel 
food  for  reflection.  There  would  have  been  more 
if  she  had  guessed  how  contrary  to  all  his  habits  was 
this  Christmas  in  the  country. 

A  proud  man  was  Jack  Nugent-Barr  when  he  took 
his  father's  seat  at  the  table  with  Mrs.  Broderick 
at  his  side. 

He  had  had  a  struggle  to  be  allowed  to  take  her 
in,  Mrs.  Curtis  being  the  daughter  of  an  Honour- 
able, but  that  lady  came  good-naturedly  to  his  rescue 
by  asserting  that  they  were  mutually  tired  of  each 
other  and  wanted  a  change. 

As  Isabel  looked  around  the  old  monks'  dining- 
190 


CHRISTMAS 

hall  on  the  alien  faces  around  her,  a  great  sense 
of  solitude  came  over  her. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  English  holly  and  mistle- 
toe ?  "  Jack  asked,  as  a  conversational  overture. 

"  Oh,  it's  very  nice,"  she  answered,  absently,  not 
troubling  to  explain  that  it  had  been  familiar  enough 
to  her  across  the  water. 

"  I  tried,"  he  went  on,  bending  toward  her,  "  to 
make  Meg  think  of  some  flower  that  would  remind 
you  of  home,  but  we  couldn't  hit  on  anything,  and 
so  I  got  that,"  and  his  gesture  drew  her  attention 
to  two  crossed  sprays  of  pine  before  her  place. 

The  green  spikes  brought  a  sudden  vision  of  the 
dusky  woods  on  the  hills  behind  the  Moorings,  and 
for  a  moment  she  could  have  cried  out  with  the 
keen  stab  of  memory. 

"  It  was  very  good  in  you,"  she  said,  gently,  put- 
ting out  her  hand  to  lay  it  on  the  dark  aromatic 
branch.  The  young  fellow's  thoughtfulness  had 
touched  her  keenly. 

"  I  would  like  to  make  you  feel  at  home  among 
us,"  Jack  went  on,  emboldened. 

" '  I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in,' "  she 
quoted,  with  a  smile. 

"  I'm  sure  I  might  make  it  pleasanter  for  you  if 
my  leave  weren't  up  so  soon.  Though  I  suppose  you 
won't  stay  on  here  through  the  winter  ?  "  he  asked. 
He  had  determined  that  if  he  could  help  it,  this 
radiant  vision  should  not  slip  away  out  of  his  life, 
and  when  Jack  determined  on  a  thing  he  usually 
carried  it  through. 

In  former  days  Isabel  would  have  been  quick 
to  note  the  feeling  she  had  aroused  and  to  apply 
an  antidote,  but  now  Jack,  like  the  rest,  seemed 

191 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

too  far  away  to  enter  into  personal  relations  with 
her.    So  she  answered : 

"  I  shall  stay  on  until  the  picture  that  I  am  paint- 
ing is  finished.  After  that  —  I  don't  know,"  she 
finished,  somewhat  blankly. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  Paris ;  all  good  Americans 
do,  don't  they  ?  "  put  in  Major  Curtis,  on  her  other 
side.  He  thought  that  Jack  had  had  the  best-look- 
ing woman  in  the  room  to  himself  for  quite  long 
enough. 

After  dinner,  cards  were  started,  and  if  the  master 
of  the  house  had  been  on  the  field  there  would  have 
been  no  higher  stakes  than  bonbons.  As  it  was : 

"  Hard  cash,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  Meg  de- 
clared, upon  which  the  rector's  wife  and  the  elder 
Miss  Nugent  said  that  they  preferred  to  sit  by  the 
fire  and  talk.  The  rector  organised  his  quiet  whist- 
table —  it  was  before  the  days  of  universal  bridge 
—  and  the  bolder  spirits  launched  into  poker,  out 
of  supposed  deference  to  Mrs.  Broderick's  Amer- 
ican tastes. 

"  I  am  a  born  gambler,"  was  Meg's  gay  announce- 
ment, and  Isabel,  watching,  had  no  doubt  of  the  fact, 
as  she  saw  how  recklessly  she  played,  never  losing 
a  chance  of  raising  the  stakes,  and  abetted  by  Lord 
Vernade,  who  sat  next  to  her,  and  who  had  as 
bad  luck  as  she  had  good. 

The  others  kept  to  an  average,  save  Jack,  who 
lost  as  persistently  as  did  Lord  Vernade.  It  was 
not  that,  however,  Isabel  thought,  which  caused 
the  increasing  gravity  in  his  face,  and  an  occasional 
almost  stern  glance  across  at  Meg. 

Presently  a  run  of  better  luck  came  to  Jack,  and 
he  then  seized  the  first  chance  to  stop  the  game. 

192 


CHRISTMAS 

"  I  think  that  Meg  has  pillaged  her  guests  quite 
enough,"  he  said,  decidedly.  "  Eh,  Tommy,  what 
do  you  say?  Have  you  anything  left  to  buy  choc- 
olates with  ?  " 

But  Miss  Tommy  happened  to  be  a  little  to  the 
good  and  was  much  excited  thereat.  She  also,  on 
principle,  opposed  any  ideas  of  Jack,  whom  she 
knew  to  have  been  picked  out  as  a  desirable 
match  for  her,  coming,  as  she  did,  of  an  influential 
family  in  army  circles,  and  having  a  nice  little 
fortune,  too,  of  her  own. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  don't  spoil  all  our  fun  by  stopping 
the  game  now.  Meg  doesn't  want  to  stop  yet,  do 
you  ?  "  she  appealed. 

Meg,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes,  looked 
across  at  the  childish  face  reflecting  the  same  eager- 
ness, and  suddenly  sobered  down  with  a  half-timid 
glance  at  Jack. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  one  can  have  too  much 
of  a  good  thing.  Come,  let's  count  our  gains,"  she 
said,  lightly.  "  I  shall  buy  a  little  pig  '  porte- 
viene '  with  mine  to  remind  me  of  you  all." 

"  A  dance !  A  dance !  "  cried  Jack,  as  they  rose 
from  the  card-table.  "  Our  Christmas  country- 
dance!  Mrs.  Broderick,  you  will  give  it  to  me? 
Althea !  "  to  the  eldest  Miss  Nugent,  "  you'll  play 
us  the  '  March  of  the  Nugents,'  won't  you?  " 

Young  and  old,  they  all  joined,  dancing  in  the  fine 
old  hall  where  through  the  tracery  of  the  big  win- 
dow the  Christmas  moonlight  streamed  in  to  rival 
the  lamps.  As  she  moved  through  the  stately  dance, 
the  haunting  sense  of  unreality  deepened  on  Isabel. 

Was  it  she,  this  woman  dancing  here,  who  within 
the  year  had  lost  all  that  had  made  her  life — no, 

193 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

not  all,  for  did  she  not  still  retain  her  trust  in  the 
honour  and  faith  of  one  —  lonely  for  her  sake  — 
who  might  have  made  life  so  fair  to  her,  if  only  — 

"  Look  at  the  moonlight !  "  Meg  cried.  "  The 
view  must  be  splendid  up  in  the  turret  with  that 
sprinkling  of  snow  over  the  country.  Now,  Mr. 
Erwin,"  she  called  to  one  of  the  youths,  "  this  is 
just  the  night  for  your  ghost-hunt.  Our  old  lady 
is  said  to  be  particularly  active  about  Christmas- 
time. I  challenge  you  to  a  run  up  the  turret-stairs, 
her  favourite  haunt,  you  know." 

"  I'm  game,  I  assure  you,"  Mr.  Erwin  answered, 
delighted  to  respond  to  any  idea  of  hers. 

"  Oh,  what  fun !  "  Miss  Tommy  cried.  "  Meg, 
I'll  go  and  get  some  shawls  for  everybody,"  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  was  off. 

Isabel  shrank  back,  chilled  as  she  always  was  by 
that  dark  tale  of  cruelty  of  an  Elizabethan  Lady 
Macbeth. 

"  Don't  let  them  drag  you  up  there  in  the  cold. 
I  must  go  to  look  after  them,  but  you  stay  here 
by  the  fire,"  Jack  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her.  But 
Meg  called  out : 

"  You'll  come,  Mrs.  Broderick,  won't  you  ?  It's 
really  an  eerie  sight  worth  seeing,  the  old  house  in 
the  moonlight." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  go,"  she  answered,  adding  to 
Jack :  "  I  would  like  to  see  the  view." 

A  maid  appeared  with  wraps  and  they  went  out 
—  a  long  procession  —  along  narrow  passages  and 
up  winding  stairs,  that  for  all  modern  lighting  and 
carpeting,  were  yet  so  mediaevally  gloomy. 

Isabel  was  just  behind  Margaret  and  Lord  Ver- 
nade,  and  she  heard  him  say: 

194, 


CHRISTMAS 

"  This  house  never  seems  to  me  the  right  setting 
for  you.  One  of  those  Italian  Renaissance  villas 
is  what  you  should  have,  all  whiteness  and  sun- 
shine." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  of  Italian  villas !  "  The 
girl  laughed,  but  with  a  note  of  gratified  vanity  in 
her  voice. 

Lord  Vernade  and  Jack  carried  candles  for  dark 
corners,  and  with  their  help  they  climbed  the  last 
stair  and  stood  in  the  small  turret-room. 

Below  them  lay  the  white  stretch  of  snow- 
sprinkled  meadows,  through  which  wound  the  dark, 
sinuous  line  of  the  river  caught  here  and  there  by 
a  silver  sparkle  of  moonlight. 

"  It's  a  night  when  you  might  fancy  one  of  the 
boats  of  the  Vikings  creeping  up  with  a  shine  of  oars 
on  the  water.  They  went  as  far  as  Reading,  didn't 
they  ?  "  Isabel  said,  as  she  thought,  to  Jack,  but  it 
was  Lord  Vernade  who  stood  beside  her. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said,  "  though,  really,  I  don't 
quite  remember.  I  fear  that  our  historic  sense  gets 
blunted  by  custom,  and  is  not  as  fresh  as  I  have 
noticed  it  to  be  with  you  people  from  across  the 
sea." 

Was  there  a  polite  sneer  in  his  words,  or  was 
it  her  prejudice  that  made  her  fancy  so?  At  any 
rate,  she  turned  away,  and  stood  gazing  silently 
down  on  the  stretch  of  country  that  her  imagination 
peopled  with  those  who  had  once  come  and  gone 
there. 

"  Has  any  one  seen  Tommy  and  Sutor?"  asked 
Jack,  but  no  one  had  any  answer  to  give. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Envin,"  Meg  said  to  the  youth  who 
was  generally  somewhere  near  her,  "  there  has  been 

195 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

no  trial  of  bravery  as  yet.  I  am  going  to  start 
alone  down  the  long  gallery  and  when  I  call  you 
must  come  alone,  too.  You  others  can  wait  here." 

"  Nonsense,  Meg,  Mrs.  Broderick  will  be  frozen," 
Jack  protested. 

"  Oh,  it's  only  for  a  second,"  and  Meg  started 
lightly  on  round  the  turn  and  down  a  gallery  that 
went  the  full  length  of  the  house. 

There  was  the  click,  click  of  her  heels  as  she 
sped  over  the  bare  floor,  but  instead  of  her  gay 
shout,  a  sudden  wail  of  terror  broke  on  their  startled 
ears. 

Isabel,  Jack,  Lord  Vernade  —  neither  was  quicker 
than  the  other  in  their  rush  into  the  gallery,  though 
Isabel  was  ahead  when  the  flying  red  figure  flung 
itself  into  her  arms,  crying: 

"  The  ghost,  the  ghost!" 

They  had  a  momentary  vision  of  a  hooded  white 
figure,  candle  in  hand,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
gallery,  and  as  Jack's  indignant  voice  rang  out : 

"  Tommy,  how  could  you  play  the  fool  like  that !  " 
it  resolved  itself  into  that  young  woman,  wrapped 
in  the  big  folds  of  a  man's  white  cloth  dressing- 
gown,  the  hood  pushed  back  to  show  her  disordered 
hair  and  dismayed  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Meg,  Meg,  I'm  so  sorry.  Please,  please 
forgive  me.  I  thought  you'd  know,"  she  protested, 
earnestly,  but  Meg  still  clung  with  the  same  con- 
vulsive grasp  to  Mrs.  Broderick,  who  felt  the  long 
tremors  that  ran  over  her. 

"  Meg,  don't  be  a  coward,"  said  Jack,  laying  a 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  at  the  touch  and  the  quiet 
command  of  the  voice  the  girl  raised  her  head  though 
she  still  clung  to  her  friend's  arm. 

196 


CHRISTMAS 

There  was  something  strangely  impressive  in  her 
disordered  beauty,  and  Isabel  saw  how  intent  was 
Lord  Vernade's  gaze. 

Then  following  on  Tommy's  footsteps  came  the 
sheepish  figure  of  Mr.  Sutor. 

"  Please,  Miss  Nugent-Barr,  put  all  the  blame 
upon  me.  It  was  I  who  persuaded  Miss  Curtis  to  do 
it."  A  protesting  gasp  was  on  second  thoughts 
stifled  by  Tommy. 

"  I  know  I  was  an  ass,  but  I  never  thought  —  " 

"  I'm  glad  you  know  that  much,"  came  from  the 
indignant  Erwin,  and  Jack,  forgetting  his  duties 
as  host,  added,  severely  : 

"  I  supposed  that  by  this  time  you  had  got  over 
those  fool's  tricks  of  yours  at  Sandhurst." 

The  poor  youth's  humiliation  was  complete,  but 
it  was  Meg  who  came  to  the  rescue.  With  a  quick 
movement  she  seemed  to  shake  off  her  terrors,  and, 
though  pale,  was  her  smiling  self  again. 

"  Never  mind,  then,  Mr.  Sutor,  they've  no  man- 
ners at  all.  I  think  myself  I  was  the  greatest  fool 
of  the  three.  Tommy,  you  imp  of  darkness,  you 
look  lovely  in  that  gown.  It's  a  good  idea  for 
a  fancy  ball.  Come  along  all  of  you  down-stairs 
to  the  fire,  but  mind,  don't  tell  my  mother  what 
a  goose  I  was.  It  would  worry  her." 

"  Come  along,  everybody,"  said  Jack,  "  hot  punch 
is  what  we  all  need  now." 


197 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IN    THE   STUDIO 

AS  Isabel  drove  home  through  the  pallor  of  the 
winter  night,  her  thoughts  were  busy  with 
the  Monk's  Grange  family. 

Jack  and  his  sister's  prompt  friendliness  had 
roused  a  very  kindly  feeling  in  her,  so  that  any 
revelation  of  character  was  of  interest. 

And  there  had  been  much  self-revelation  to-night 
on  the  part  of  Meg.  Her  dress,  for  Mrs.  Broderick 
was  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  when  a 
woman  can  add  a  personal  poetic  touch  to  the  fash- 
ion of  her  dress,  she  possesses  a  powerful  weapon. 
Then  there  were  her  varying  humours.  Her  excite- 
ment over  the  cards,  her  wild  terror  roused  by  such 
an  easily  seen-through  trick,  and  which  she  had 
brought  upon  herself. 

And  yet  what  a  charm  there  was  about  her,  with 
her  frank  kindness  and  her  warm  affection  for  her 
brother. 

His  influence  over  her  was  evidently  strong,  and 
that  it  must  be  all  for  good,  Isabel,  remembering 
the  steadfastness  of  his  blue  eyes,  could  not  doubt. 

Different  types,  this  brother  and  sister,  probably 
taking  after  different  sides  of  the  house.  Ah,  well, 
though  they  might  have  their  troubles  ahead  of 

198 


IN    THE    STUDIO 

them,  they  still  had  the  one  supreme  gift  of  youth 
to  make  or  mar  as  they  would,  while  she  — 

It  had  been  good  even  for  that  little  while  to  think 
of  some  one  but  herself,  but  as  there  was  nothing 
left  of  real  in  her  life  save  her  work,  let  her  go 
back  to  it  and  immerse  herself  in  it  as  a  swimmer 
in  the  waves. 

The  next  morning  she  was  in  her  studio  nearly 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  and  as  she  stood  before 
the  half-finished  picture  she  knew  that  here  lay  her 
best  oblivion. 

And  so  when  that  evening  there  came  a  note 
from  Meg  saying  that  they  were  going  to  skate 
the  next  day  on  the  flooded  meadows,  and  asking 
her  to  come  down  in  time  for  a  picnic  luncheon,  she 
sent  a  plea  of  work  as  an  excuse. 

For  two  or  three  days  she  saw  nothing  of  them, 
and  then  at  tea-time  they  arrived,  announcing  cheer- 
fully that  their  guests  had  left  that  morning. 

"  So  now  we  shall  have  full  leisure  to  devote  to 
rooting  you  out  of  your  solitude,"  Meg  proclaimed. 

"  And  if  you  would  let  me,  I  could  go  over  early 
to-morrow  to  Maidenhead  and  get  you  some  skates. 
You  really  ought  to  come  down  and  try  it  in  the 
afternoon,"  Jack  pleaded. 

"  Well,  there  is  not  much  clear  daylight  after 
three,"  she  yielded. 

Jack  looked  puzzled. 

"  I  mean  for  painting." 

"  Oh,  then  you  will  come?  "  Disgust  at  painting 
being  the  first  consideration,  mingling  with  delight 
at  her  yielding. 

And  so,  for  a  few  days  until  a  thaw  came,  Isabel 
spent  her  afternoons  on  the  stretch  of  ice  in  the 

199 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Monk's  Grange  meadows,  contrast  enough  to  the 
forest  lake  in  the  Adirondacks  where  she  had  last 
skated. 

As  Jack  walked  up  through  the  woods  with  her 
in  the  twilight,  she  asked : 

"  Has  Lord  Vernade  gone  away?  " 

"  Yes,  he  went  two  days  after  Christmas.  Queer 
fellow,  that!  He'll  lounge  about  town  or  Monte 
Carlo  or  some  such  place  for  months  without  doing 
one  thing  to  show  that  he's  any  less  a  fool  than 
the  men  around  him  —  save  that  few  play  as  high 
as  he  does,  but  that's  in  the  blood  —  and  then  he'll 
start  off  to  Asia  Minor,  where  he  has  men  regularly 
at  work  excavating  some  remnants  of  a  town,  and 
there  he'll  stay  two  or  three  months  at  a  time, 
roughing  it  like  the  others,  mad  over  some  theory 
about  Homer  or  Troy  or  something,  writing  reports 
to  the  learned  societies,  who  think  no  end  of  him  — 
then  he  drops  it  all  and  is  back  again,  his  same  old 
self." 

"  How  strange,"  she  commented.  "  He  is  the  last 
man  one  would  imagine  to  be  an  archeologist.  What 
does  his  wife  think  of  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  she  doesn't  care  two  straws  what 
he  does  as  long  as  he  leaves  her  to  go  her  own  way 
in  a  pretty  fast  lot.  It's  hard  on  a  man  to  have  a 
wife  like  that,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed,  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,  I'm  off  for  Florence  to-morrow,"  Mar- 
garet announced  the  next  day.  "  Or,  rather,  I'm  off 
to  join  Granny  in  London  to  buy  clothes.  I  do  wish 
I  had  you  there  to  help  me.  Your  taste  is  just 
perfect." 

"  Clothes! "  Jack  scoffed.  "  If  Meg  were  going 
200 


IN   THE    STUDIO 

to  be  tried  for  murder  she  would  get  a  regular 
trousseau.  What  I  like  is  women  who  are  always 
perfectly  dressed  without  ever  seeming  to  give  it 
a  thought,"  looking  appreciatively  at  Isabel. 

"  There's  the  superior  artfulness  in  that  seem- 
ing," Meg  retorted.  "  But  now  to  be  serious.  You'll 
promise,  won't  you,"  to  Isabel,  "  not  to  spirit  your- 
self away  from  here  without  giving  me  due  warning 
of  your  address?  " 

"  One  really  might  think  I  was  the  flightiest  of 
mortals,"  Isabel  protested,  "  whereas  you  will  prob- 
ably find  me  here  when  you  return.  But,  yes,  I 
promise,  and  it  is  very  good  in  you  to  care." 

And  so,  with  this  promise,  Margaret  went,  and 
her  friend  really  missed  the  girl  who  had  fallen  into 
the  way  of  running  in  and  out  so  frequently. 

Jack,  however,  seemed  to  have  mysteriously 
lengthened  his  sojourn,  and  apparently  saw  no  reason 
in  Meg's  departure  for  dropping  his  visits  to  Heath- 
holm. 

Hitherto  Isabel  had  kept  these  visits  of  theirs 
quite  apart  from  her  studio  life,  and  Jack  knew 
nothing  of  the  big  nearly  completed  canvas  into 
which  so  much  of  herself  had  gone.  Nothing,  that 
is  to  say,  beyond  a  vague  jealousy  of  the  work  that 
so  absorbed  her. 

The  picture  was  a  success,  she  knew,  now  that 
it  needed  so  little  to  complete  it,  and  with  the  knowl- 
edge some  relaxation  in  the  long  strain  of  effort  had 
already  come. 

It  was  a  hopelessly  rainy  winter  day,  and  what 
with  the  weather  and  what  with  the  knowledge  that 
Jack  had  gone  up  to  town,  Isabel,  expecting  no 

201 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

outside  interruption,  had,  as  the  light  dulled,  thrown 
herself  upon  the  studio  sofa  and  fallen  asleep. 

She  was  weary  with  the  complete  weariness  of 
the  satisfied  brain-worker.  She  had  looked  upon 
her  work  and  saw  that  it  was  good,  and  mind  and 
body  craved  for  nothing  beyond  rest. 

At  sunset  a  deep  red  reflection  had  lit  the  eastern 
clouds,  rilling  the  room  with  a  lurid  glow.  Isabel 
lay  among  the  soft-tinted  cushions  still  in  her  studio- 
dress  —  a  loose  gown  of  coarse  white  woollen  ma- 
terial. 

The  closed  lids,  the  released  curves  of  the  mouth, 
gave  her  a  curiously  young  and  pathetic  air. 

It  was  thus  that  Jack  Nugent-Barr,  shown  in  by 
the  servant's  mistake,  saw  her,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her,  a  deep  tenderness  in  his  eyes. 

Beyond  the  wearied  figure  stood  the  nearly  com- 
pleted work  of  the  artist  with  all  the  light  falling 
upon  it,  and  from  the  woman  his  eyes  went  on  to  the 
picture  almost  with  dread,  as  though  there  he  rec- 
ognised his  worst  rival. 

It  was  after  all  only  for  a  moment  that  he  was 
free  to  gaze,  for  the  subtle  sense  of  being  watched 
penetrated  through  Isabel's  armour  of  fatigue,  and, 
opening  her  eyes,  she  looked  at  him  with  the  slow 
smile  of  the  half-awakened  child.  Then  once  more 
fully  alert  to  her  surroundings,  she  sat  up,  pulling 
herself  together  in  a  woman's  fashion. 

"  Oh,  have  I  really  been  asleep,  when  I  only  lay 
down  to  rest  for  a  few  moments?  And  I  never 
expected  you  this  rainy  day.  I  thought,  too,  that 
you  were  in  town." 

"  So  I  was,"  and  the  youth  had  the  conscience 
to  blush,  "  but  I  came  down  by  the  four-thirty  train, 

202 


IN    THE    STUDIO 

and  as  it  had  stopped  raining  I  thought  that  I 
would  stretch  my  legs  by  walking  back  from  Maiden- 
head, and  look  in  here  on  the  way."  It  was  an 
audacious  excuse,  and  must  have  struck  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  as  such  if  her  mind  had  not  been  full  of  other 
things. 

The  red  light  falling  on  the  field  of  poppies  caught 
her  eye,  and  she  spoke  impulsively. 

"  Oh.  but  you  shouldn't  be  in  here,  you  know ! 
I  don't  let  anybody  see  my  work." 

"  Surely  I  am  not  '  anybody,'  "  he  protested,  stur- 
dily, "  and  why  should  you  shut  me  out  from  what 
must  be  the  main  interest  of  your  life?  You  must 
know  that  such  an  achievement  as  even  I  can  see 
this  to  be  could  not  make  me  think  you  more 
wonderful  than  I  do  already." 

With  too  late  compunction  Isabel  heard  the  im- 
petuous words,  and  realised  that  he  was  about  to 
take  the  bit  between  his  teeth.  Gathering  all  her 
wits  to  regain  her  supremacy,  she  spoke  with  gentle 
aloofness. 

"  Hush,  I  must  send  you  away  if  you  talk  like 
that.  You  shall  see  any  of  my  other  works  you 
like  but  this,"  with  a  motion  of  her  hand  toward  the 
big  easel.  "  It  has  been  a  fancy  of  mine  to  keep 
it  to  myself.  It  will  be  finished  next  week,  and 
then  I  shall  take  it  over  to  Paris  to  be  framed.  But 
you  won't  talk  about  it.  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  can  trust  me."  he  said,  quietly,  a 
little  paler  than  he  had  been. 

"  Of  course  I  can.  I  always  do."  she  incautiously 
reassured  him.  She  could  not  bear  to  see  that 
pained  look  in  his  face.  She  had,  however,  imme- 
diate cause  for  repentance  in  his  rejoinder. 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  I  was  thinking  of  taking  a  run  over  to  Paris 
myself  to  see  some  of  the  early  racing.  You  wouldn't 
mind  if  I  were  to  go  about  the  same  time,  would 
you?" 

"  I  shouldn't  mind,  of  course,  but  I  should  hardly 
be  able  to  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me,  as  I  should 
be  staying  with  an  American  artist  and  his  wife, 
who  live  at  Passy,  and  only  receive  a  few  artist 
friends." 

Through  the  politeness  of  her  words  Jack  saw 
the  hopelessness  of  his  improvised  scheme. 

"  It  doesn't  sound  much  of  a  change  for  you," 
he  commented,  somewhat  sulkily. 

"  Oh,  that  is  just  what  it  will  be,"  was  her  cheer- 
ful answer.  "  Nothing  could  be  such  a  change  as 
getting  back  into  the  old  art  life  again  after  being  for 
so  long  banished  from  it." 

"  I  fear  you  must  have  found  us  very  stupid 
here,"  and  the  smart  young  hussar  looked  very  like 
a  contumacious  schoolboy. 

A  smile  of  amusement  at  his  tragic  voice  flickered 
on  Isabel's  face,  as  she  said,  kindly : 

"  The  only  stupidity  was  in  my  own  dulness. 
I  came  here  to  fulfil  a  certain  task,  and  now  it  is 
nearly  done  and  I  am  free  of  its  burden.  Free !  " 
and  she  stood  up,  stretching  out  her  hands  before 
her. 

But  even  as  she  did  so,  a  sight  of  the  fire  in 
the  young  fellow's  eyes  sobered  her,  and  she  went 
on,  nastily : 

"  But  I  was  forgetting  that  I  had  promised  to 
show  you  some  of  my  work." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  are  tired  now.  Another  day  will 
do,"  he  protested,  sincerely  enough,  anxious  not 

204 


IN    THE   STUDIO 

to  have  his  enthusiasm  diverted  into  the  more  arid 
fields  of  art. 

"  But  I  really  am  rested  now,"  she  persisted,  and 
he  had  to  content  himself  with  watching  the  lines 
of  her  figure  as  she  held  up  a  canvas  to  the  light, 
and  with  the  changes  that  came  over  her  face  as 
she  talked  of  the  various  subjects. 

All  these  she  showed  him  were  familiar  scenes, 
autumn  or  winter  river  bits  of  tawny  reeds  and  swol- 
len gray  water,  or  woodland  studies  of  gray  beech- 
trunks  and  golden-brown  leafage. 

Lifting  these  sketches  one  after  another  from  a 
pile  that  stood  against  the  wall,  she  took  up  one 
at  which  she  looked  in  silence. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  brought  that  with 
me,"  she  murmured,  as  if  to  herself. 

It  was  a  slight,  sketchy  thing,  done  in  the  luminous 
gray  of  a  northern  evening,  with  a  hint  of  the 
day's  labours  ended  in  the  net-laden  fishing-dory 
drawn  up  on  the  rough  skids  that  ran  down  near 
an  old  wooden  wharf  and  shed,  the  wood  of  each 
being  weather-worn  into  soft  gray. 

Up  the  bank  was  a  suggestion  of  the  dark  green 
of  distant  spruce  woods,  but  elsewhere  stretched  the 
opalescent  plain  of  the  sleeping  sea. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  been  in  Norway," 
Jack  said,  with  a  greater  show  of  interest  in  the 
new  subject. 

The  gray  wooden  shed  and  the  dory  brought 
fond  reminiscences  of  conquered  salmon. 

"  It's  not  Norway.  It  is  Canada,  the  Nova  Sco- 
tian  coast,  you  know,"  she  answered,  absently,  look- 
ing at  the  picture  with  the  intent  eyes  of  a  ghost- 

205 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

seer.  Truly,  for  her  there  were  more  ghosts  than 
one  around  that  spot. 

"  Why,  those  are  our  native  regions,"  Jack  said, 
now  all  surprised  interest.  "  We  left  there  when 
I  was  ten  years  old,  but  I  can  just  remember  places 
like  that.  I  used  to  think  about  them  in  Norway." 

Isabel's  attention  was  fully  aroused.  The  asso- 
ciations of  the  sketch  had  inspired  a  train  of  thought 
which  brought  a  sudden  flash  of  realisation. 

The  French  grandmother,  the  avaricious  father, 
the  Canadian  birth  and  the  English  home,  the  name 
Bauer  disguised  into  Barr,  all  showed  that  these 
were  Gilbert  Clinch's  cousins. 

"  But  your  name  is  Nugent,"  she  said,  follow- 
ing her  thoughts  aloud. 

The  young  man  stared,  as  well  he  might. 

"  I  really  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it," 
he  said,  as  though  apologising  for  his  own  dulness. 

Recollecting  herself,  Isabel  saw  that  she  had  no 
right  to  betray  any  acquaintance  with  Gilbert 
Clinch's  family  affairs. 

"  My  wits  must  be  wandering,"  she  said,  with 
a  laugh.  "  I  suppose  I  meant  that  to  us  Americans 
your  double  name  sounds  so  English." 

It  was  a  lame  excuse,  but  Jack  accepted  it  readily. 

"  My  mother  was  English,  and  as  she  had  no 
brothers,  she  took  the  name  to  please  her  father. 
The  old  gentleman  fancied  his  family  no  end,  you 
see,"  he  added,  simply.  "  I  believe  our  paternal 
Barr  is  German,  and  was  originally  Bauer,  which 
does  not  indicate  an  aristocratic  origin,"  and  though 
he  laughed,  he  also  reddened  slightly  as  though  the 
fact  were  unpalatable. 

Knowing  what  she  did,  Isabel  felt  a  warm  sym- 
906 


IN   THE    STUDIO 

pathy  for  the  boy  in  his  pride  of  youth.  How  little 
he  must  guess  of  his  real  family  history. 

"  But  your  grandmother  is  French,"  she  sug- 
gested, and  Jack  brightened. 

"  Oh,  yes,  her  father  carried  his  head  out  to 
Martinique  to  keep  it  safe  from  Madame  Guillotine, 
and  when  names  were  changed  she  tacked  on  his  title 
'  de  Fer-de-Lance  '  to  her  own,  which  with  a  '  de  ' 
before  it,  made  up  quite  a  grand  whole.  '  Madame 
de  Barre  de  Fer-de-Lance '  looks  very  well  on  a 
card."  He  laughed,  but  with  visible  faith  in  this 
family  tree. 

Isabel,  feeling  the  need  to  be  alone  to  pull  her 
ideas  together,  now  suggested  that  it  was  getting 
dark  for  the  walk  through  the  woods,  and  being  still 
answerable  to  discipline,  Jack  took  his  departure. 


207 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

IN    FLORENCE 

THE  early  spring  was  creeping  over  the  Flor- 
ence hills,  bringing  out  the  narcissus  in  the 
meadows  and  the  scarlet  anemone  among  the 
young  wheat  under  the  olives. 

It  brought  many  a  vagabondising  instinct  to  Mar- 
garet as  she  took  her  first  morning  peep  from  her 
window  at  the  dark  curve  of  Morello  beyond  Fiesole, 
at  the  distant  shining  Carrara  peaks. 

Years  of  habit  had  never  accustomed  her  to  her 
grandmother's  rule,  never  made  her  resigned  to  live 
her  life  and  go  the  old  lady's  ways  instead  of  her 
own. 

And  certainly  the  ways  of  Madame  de  Barre  de 
Fer-de-Lance  were  not  ones  to  recommend  them- 
selves to  a  young  girl  eager  to  grasp  the  joy  of 
life  with  activity. 

Dull  drives  in  the  big  landau  up  and  down  the 
alleys  of  the  Cascine,  duller  receptions  and  teas 
among  the  most  ultra-Catholic  element  in  the  Italian 
society  of  the  town,  a  life  planned  to  lead  up  to 
an  Italian  marriage  for  Margaret  and  a  subsequent 
entrance  into  the  fold  of  Rome,  such  had  been  the 
routine  of  Margaret's  winters  for  the  last  three 
years. 

208 


IN    FLORENCE 

Was  it  the  thought  of  Jack's  prophecies  and  gibes 
that  had  kept  up  the  girl's  powers  of  passive  resist- 
ance, or  was  it  the  instinctive  craving  of  her  nature 
for  a  life  more  suited  to  her  needs? 

However  it  was,  she  had  hitherto  held  her  own 
against  her  sacerdotal  surroundings,  escaping  when- 
ever possible  to  the  more  outdoor  element  of  her 
English  acquaintances.  An  occasional  excursion 
among  the  hills,  or  an  afternoon's  golfing  would 
soon  brush  away  the  cobwebs  gathered  in  a  heated 
salon,  crowded  with  scented  dowagers  and  smooth- 
faced ecclesiastics.  She  had  her  home  alleviations, 
too,  in  a  whimsical  friendship  with  her  grand- 
mother's French  companion,  poor,  scraggy  Madame 
Estivalet,  with  her  quaint  antiquarian  enthusiasm 
that  compensated  her  for  all  her  bondage  to  her 
grim  old  mistress. 

Then  there  was  Ellen,  half-housekeeper,  half- 
ladies'  maid,  whose  protecting,  scolding  devotion 
had  formed  one  of  Margaret's  earliest  memories. 
Ellen,  whose  sturdy  independence  held  its  own 
even  against  the  old  lady's  imperious  will. 

It  was  Ellen,  though,  who,  in  Margaret's  occa- 
sional fits  of  rebellion,  would  coax  her  into  sub- 
mission. 

"  She's  old  now,  Miss  Meggie,  and  she  mightn't 
live  long,  and  her  with  all  that  money  that  would 
make  a  rich  woman  of  you,  and,  maybe,  after  all, 
she's  an  easier  one  to  please  than  your  pa,  and  a 
woman's  got  to  please  somebody  —  that  is,  if  she 
isn't  a  widow  with  a  bit  put  away  —  and  sure  and 
certain  it  is  that  your  pa  would  never  have  paid 
all  them  bills  for  clothes  this  last  year.  No,  nor 
given  you  that  pearl  necklace,  neither,  as  you're  so 

209 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

proud  of.  And  there's  another  thing,  child,"  lower- 
ing her  voice  carefully,  "  there  was  them  at  home 
that  called  her  a  witch,  and  while  that  may  be 
nonsense,  still  I  never  did  see  those  who  crossed 
her  have  much  luck  afterwards.  In  this  pagan 
country,  Domenico  calls  it  the  evil  eye  and  makes 
signs  behind  his  back  with  his  fingers  whenever  he 
comes  near  her,  but  I  guess  he  means  the  same 
thing  as  they  did;  and  so,  my  dear,  just  you  be 
patient." 

But  Meg  did  not  always  follow  this  well-meant 
advice,  and  at  the  present  she  was  in  deeper  dis- 
grace than  ever. 

Madame  de  Barre  had  taken  her  to  a  dance  given 
by  the  American  daughter-in-law  of  a  devout  count- 
ess, and  Margaret,  instead  of  modestly  accepting 
the  attentions  of  the  Countess  Besaglieri's  son,  had 
given  several  dances  to  a  wandering  American,  and, 
greatest  crime  of  all  in  Italian  eyes,  had  even  sat 
out  one  with  him,  after  which  her  outraged  ances- 
tress had  taken  her  home,  and  a  fine  war  of  words 
had  raged  between  the  two. 

"  But,  Granny,  you  never  minded  my  sitting  out 
dances  in  London,"  the  girl  had  protested,  feigning 
a  social  ignorance. 

"  London !  that  is  another  matter !  Those  heavy 
English  are  too  stupid  ever  to  see  or  be  afraid 
of  harm.  But  here!  when  I  take  you  into  the  best 
Italian  society,  when  all  the  Ripamonti  family  are 
agog  to  see  what  you  are  like  —  indeed,  the  old 
Count  came  to  town  on  purpose  —  you  disgrace  me, 
and  disgust  Count  Felice." 

"  That's  one  comfort,  at  any  rate,  and  as  to  dis- 
grace, Granny,  if  you're  so  easily  disgraced  as  that, 

210 


IN    FLORENCE 

you  had  better  let  me  go  home  to  my  mother.  Ellen 
could  take  me,  you  know.  At  any  rate,  I  should 
like  to  go  to  bed  now." 

As  generally  happened  when  Margaret  raised 
the  standard  of  open  rebellion,  the  old  lady  ca- 
pitulated, and  soothed  the  angry  girl  with  some 
phrases  almost  apologetic,  though  her  wrath  burned 
none  the  less  fiercely  below  the  surface. 

She  did  not  intend  Margaret  to  know  that  the 
Ripamonti  dowager  was  coming  to  lunch  with 
her  for  a  cosy  little  chat  over  the  proposed 
alliance,  and  so  the  next  morning  she  issued  her 
mandate  that  Margaret  and  her  companion  were 
to  improve  their  minds  by  a  day's  sightseeing  at 
Fiesole.  Poor  Madame  Estivalet's  face  shone  with 
pleasure  as  she  appeared  in  Margaret's  room  with 
the  tidings. 

"  I  fear  that  it  will  be  but  a  dull  day  for  you,  my 
dear,  but  still,  the  weather  is  lovely,"  she  began, 
timidly,  but  was  interrupted  by  Margaret  catching 
her  by  the  arms  and  whirling  her  round  in  an  invol- 
untary waltz. 

"  Dull,  my  beloved  Stivvie,  dull !  When  I  ex- 
pected to  be  trotted  about  in  the  closed  landau  all  the 
afternoon  on  a  round  of  dowagerical  visits  —  good 
word,  that,  isn't  it?  And  we  will  get  the  cook  to 
make  us  some  of  your  favourite  sandwiches  and 
we  will  lunch  on  them  in  the  amphitheatre  where 
the  maidenhair  grows.  Then  we'll  buy  some 
'  dolces  '  at  Doney's  on  our  way  to  the  train.  Only 
mind,  now,  we  play  fair.  I'll  go  and  gaze  at  your 
beloved  Etruscan  scraps  in  the  museum  if  you'll 
promise  to  sit  and  do  nothing  out-of-doors  for  ever 
so  long." 

211 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  Oh,  dear  child,  but  you  are  of  an  amiable 
disposition  to  enjoy  going  with  your  poor  old 
friend,"  and  the  good  creature  wiped  away  a  tear 
of  gratitude. 

"Don't  be  a  humbug,  Stivvie!  You  know  that 
at  heart  we  are  equal  vagabonds !  " 

Be  that  as  it  might,  there  was  certainly  enough 
of  a  subtle  bond  between  the  queerly  assorted  pair 
to  make  them  good  holiday  companions. 

The  girl  who  to-morrow  might  choose  to  pose 
as  a  very  up-to-date  society  lady  was  to-day  in 
the  wildest  schoolgirl  humour,  and,  indeed,  in  her 
sailor  hat  and  gray  tweed,  looked  little  more  than 
a  schoolgirl. 

The  day  was  one  of  those  perfect  March  ones 
of  which  Florence  holds  the  secret,  and  Margaret 
bought  from  one  of  the  street  children  at  the  station 
a  bunch  of  vivid  red  anemones  and  fastened  them 
against  the  white  silk  of  her  blouse. 

They  had  reached  their  bourn  of  the  Fiesole 
amphitheatre,  with  its  circling  stone  seats  against 
the  hillside,  where  once  — 

"  The  Monarch  and  his  minions  and  his  dames  viewed  the 
games." 

Below  them  lay  the  winding  valley  that  the  dark 
hills  closed  in  upon  and  hid,  and  over  everything 
was  the  peace  of  the  sleeping  past. 

Margaret  lay  back  with  her  head  at  a  comfortable 
angle  against  a  big  stone,  and,  as  usual,  was  not 
silent  for  long. 

"  Condescend,  my  friend,"  she  said,  lazily,  "  to 
bring  your  thoughts  into  the  comparative  modern- 

212 


IN    FLORENCE 

ness  of  the  Roman  Empire,  and  tell  me  if  you  think 
the  Latin  ladies  who  sat  here  on  these  seats  on  Jan- 
uary and  February  afternoons  had  the  bare  arms  and 
those  nice  little  bare  toes  with  gold  trimmings  that 
we  see  in  their  statues?  " 

"  Perhaps  they  only  had  their  games  in  the  sum- 
mer," was  the  somewhat  feeble  suggestion. 

"  I  rather  fancy  they  were  up  to  their  little  games 
all  the  year  round,"  Margaret  jested.  "  And  then, 
those  wonderful  curled  head-pieces  of  theirs !  How 
blown  about  they  must  have  got  if  they  didn't  wear 
veils,  and  what  guys  they  must  have  looked  at  any 
time.  Now,  you  wouldn't  have  caught  a  Greek 
woman  getting  herself  up  like  that.  If  I  were  clever 
and  studied  things  I  should  want  to  know  all  about 
the  Greeks.  How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Greece, 
Stivvie?"  she  asked,  tilting  her  head  still  farther 
back  to  look  up  at  the  angular  figure  perched  with 
stiff  incongruity  on  a  great  fallen  stone. 

"  Greece !  Oh,  my  dear !  "  The  rapture  of  the 
thought  was  evidently  too  deep  for  words. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,  if  ever  I'm  rich  you 
and  I  will  go  to  Athens  together,  and  Corinth  and 
Olympia  —  " 

The  stream  of  her  idle  talk  was  checked  by  the 
sight  of  two  men  tourists,  who,  descending  one  of 
the  flights  of  steps  of  the  amphitheatre,  seated  them- 
selves on  the  first  row  of  the  curving  tiers.  Here 
they  proceeded  to  light  cigarettes  in  an  evident  state 
of  lazy  well-being. 

Margaret  gave  a  little  amused  laugh,  and  said, 
in  cautiously  lowered  tones : 

"  Do  you  see  the  younger  one  in  the  felt  hat  ? 
Well,  that's  the  one  Granny  and  I  had  the  fight 

213 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

over.  He's  an  American,  you  know,  and  seemed  to 
take  it  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  that  I  should 
talk  to  him  half  the  evening.  Oh,  Stivvie !  "  she 
broke  off,  in  a  sharp  tone  of  dismay,  for  a  precious 
fragment  of  stone  from  the  old  Etruscan  wall,  sur- 
reptitiously presented  to  Madame  Estivalet  by  a 
workman,  and  carefully  carried  by  her,  had  slipped 
from  her  grasp,  and,  rolling  from  step  to  step  of 
the  amphitheatre,  had  ended  by  inflicting  a  sharp 
rap  between  the  shoulders  of  the  subject  of  Mar- 
garet's discourse. 

The  young  fellow  looked  up  in  such  evident 
amazement  that  her  laugh  rang  out  unchecked. 

Recognising  his  partner  of  the  night  before,  he 
raised  his  hat  in  greeting,  and,  stone  in  hand,  began 
to  climb  toward  them. 

"  Oh,  how  awful !  He  must  think  I  did  it  on 
purpose.  Granny  would  have  a  fit,"  Margaret 
gasped,  choking  back  her  mirth.  "  Let's  go, 
madame." 

"  But  my  Etruscan  stone,"  groaned  the  other. 

It  was  too  late,  however,  for  retreat.  The  stran- 
ger was  standing  before  them,  and,  with  a  conta- 
gious smile  hovering  round  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
began : 

"  Excuse  me,  but,  as  this  seems  to  be  an  antiquity, 
I  feel  it  my  duty  to  restore  it,  although  I  cannot 
guess  what  I  had  done  to  be  attacked  with  such  a. 
missile." 

Margaret's  schoolgirl  manner  was  gone,  and  she 
was  altogether  the  society  young  lady,  as  she  an- 
swered, with  a  frank  laugh: 

"  You  were  right.  It  is  no  common  weapon,  but 
a  precious  fragment  of  the  Etruscan  wall,  and  when 


IN    FLORENCE 

my  friend  let  it  fall  from  her  grasp  she  had  horrible 
fears  that  you  might  confiscate  it.  She  adores  the 
Etruscans,  you  see." 

The  elder  lady  now  found  courage  to  murmur,  in 
her  broken  English : 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  am  desole!  If  it  should  have 
inflicted  a  wound !  " 

Here  both  the  man  and  the  girl  laughed  out 
frankly,  the  former  answering,  with  a  kindly  defer- 
ence: 

"  Fortunately  for  me,  it  did  not,  you  see !  But 
I  fear  I  must  plead  guilty  to  a  rooted  distaste  for 
the  Etruscans,  at  least,  those  I  have  seen  in  terra- 
cotta in  museums.  Their  smile  would  lend  a  fresh 
horror  to  the  Day  of  Judgment.  I  am  sure  that 
if  I  had  seen  them  as  a  child,  those  heads  would  have 
haunted  every  dark  corner  of  the  room  at  bedtime." 

But  Madame  Estivalet  could  not  bear  to  hear 
her  idols  thus  desecrated. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  but  they  are  so  truly  antique,  so 
venerable!"  she  murmured;  then,  with  a  sudden 
recollection  of  her  duties  as  a  chaperon : 

"  But  I  fear  that  we  must  be  thinking  of  the 
next  train." 

Meanwhile,  Margaret  had  been  taking  a  daylight 
inspection  of  the  man  who  last  night  had  aroused 
her  interest.  He  was  good-looking,  this  fair-haired, 
slim  man  of  about  thirty,  with  the  suggestion  of  a 
reserve  of  strength  under  the  quiet  of  his  manner. 

What  was  there  about  him  that  reminded  her  of 
her  brother  Jack?  She  was  not  quite  sure,  for  his 
aquiline  features  were  more  individualised  than  that 
youth's,  his  observant  eyes  were  of  a  clear  gray 
instead  of  the  blue  of  jack's,  and  yet  with  both 

215 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

there  was  the  feeling  that  they  were  of  those  to 
whom  children  and  dogs  would  turn  unafraid,  while 
a  man  might  fear  their  anger. 

But  the  second  man  was  coming  slowly  up  the 
steps. 

"Isn't  that  Mr.  Sinnet?"  Margaret  asked. 

"  Yes ;  do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Just  to  bow  to,  but  Mrs.  Sinnet  comes  to  the 
villa  sometimes." 

Then,  as  the  tall,  thin  man,  with  iron-gray  hair 
and  dyspeptic  countenance,  raised  his  hat,  she  said : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sinnet  ?  One  must  come 
into  the  wilderness,  I  see,  to  meet  you  aesthetic  folk. 
You  don't  condescend  to  teas  and  such." 

The  newcomer  looked  mildly  flattered  as  he  an- 
swered, in  a  sepulchral  voice : 

"  Art  is  long  and  life  is  short.  We  to  whom  the 
mission  has  been  given  must  husband  our  forces 
for  the  doing  of  our  work." 

Margaret  knew  well  enough  that  the  doing  of 
this  work  consisted  in  the  occasional  production  of 
some  overelaborate  essay  on  North  Italian  scenery 
or  art,  brought  out  with  copious  illustrations  in 
"  editions  de  luxe,"  and  she  caught  a  look  on  the 
other  man's  face  which  told  her  that  he  did  not  take 
his  companion  very  seriously. 

"  It  must  be  delightful  to  go  about  with  so  good 
a  guide  to  Florence  as  Mr.  Sinnet,"  she  said,  gra- 
ciously, to  him. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  though  I  fear  he  finds  me  a  terrible 
Philistine.  I  had  not  time,  you  see,  in  early  days 
to  attend  to  the  ornamental  side  of  my  education," 
was  the  frank  answer. 

"  Ah,  well,  that  can  always  be  added  on  like 
216 


IN    FLORENCE 

a  piece  of  lace  to  a  frock.  Yes,  dear  madame,  I 
am  ready  whenever  you  are,"  and,  with  a  bow  and 
a  smile  which  included  both  men,  she  turned  with 
her  companion  to  climb  toward  the  entrance. 

"  What  a  delightful  young  man !  "  Madame  Esti- 
valet  said,  regretfully,  as  they  sat  in  the  shady 
piazza  awaiting  the  hourly  train. 

"  That's  all  very  well."  Margaret  laughed,  mis- 
chievously, "  but  won't  Granny  slay  us  when  she 
hears  we  have  been  talking  to  the  enterprising  part- 
ner of  last  night  ?  " 

Madame  Esti valet  looked  troubled  at  the  antici- 
pation of  her  report  to  her  tyrant,  but  presently  she 
spoke,  with  a  fine  air  of  carelessness : 

"  After  all,  dear  child,  I  see  no  occasion  to  dis- 
turb your  grandmother  with  the  little  details  of 
our  expedition.  She  has  seemed  nervous  of  late, 
and  easily  disturbed." 

"  Nervous  "  was  the  companion's  polite  expression 
for  what  Ellen  called  "  the  old  lady's  tantrums." 

"  All  right,  Stivvie,  I'm  mum,"  the  girl  agreed, 
with  an  inward  sense  of  amusement. 


217 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

A    WANDERER 

"  f  •  i  HAT'S  the  girl  you  were  asking  me  about, 
isn't  it  ?  "  Mr.  Sinnet  said,  as  soon  as  the 
A  ladies  were  out  of  hearing. 

"  Yes,  it  was  strange  I  couldn't  remember  her 
name,  for  I  found  her  charming  company.  I  rather 
think  the  old  lady  with  her  didn't  fancy  her  bestow- 
ing so  much  of  it  on  me.  She  scowled  at  me  fiercely 
as  she  left." 

"Madame  de  Barre?  Oh,  she  is  an  old  witch, 
they  say.  She  keeps  mostly  to  the  foreign  society 
of  the  place,  and  wants  to  marry  Miss  Nugent  to 
an  Italian,  at  least,  so  I've  heard  my  wife  say.  I 
hold  aloof  from  it  all,  you  know.  The  real  Florence 
lies  for  me  in  the  nooks  and  corners  that  retain  the 
national  life,  and  steep  my  soul  in  joy  with  their 
contrast  to  the  American  crudity  from  which  I  es- 
caped as  from  Sodom  and  Gomorrah." 

"  Be  sure  you  don't  look  backwards,  then,"  his 
companion  said,  and  then,  thinking  that,  for  all 
his  aloofness,  Mr.  Sinnet  seemed  fairly  well  up  in 
the  local  gossip,  he  went  on  : 

"  Miss  Nugent  seems  to  have  nothing  foreign 
about  her  except  her  looks.  Her  name  is  Irish, 

218 


A   WANDERER 

and  one  often  sees  Irish  girls  with  that  blue-black 
hair." 

"  But  never  with  those  deep  dark  eyes,  where  the 
fire,  where  the  passion  of  this  old  land  slumbers. 
She  is  a  daughter  of  the  South,"  Mr.  Sinnet  de- 
clared, enthusiastically. 

His  friend  laughed. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  included  young  ladies'  eyes 
in  your  artistic  raptures." 

"  ^Esthetic,  purely  aesthetic!  She  seemed  to  per- 
sonify the  freshness  of  spring  among  these  heavy 
ruins.  But  I  suppose  we  must  be  thinking  of  get- 
ting back  in  time  for  dinner.  That  spaghetti  at 
lunch  was  only  half-cooked,  and  I  was  afraid  to 
touch  it." 

All  the  same,  he  had  managed  a  good  plateful 
of  it,  his  friend  remembered,  but  took  care  not  to 
say  so. 

Between  these  two  men  there  was  no  real  friend- 
ship or  intimacy,  though  during  these  days  that 
delayed  him  in  Florence,  Gilbert  Clinch  had  fallen 
into  a  habit  of  taking  his  walks  abroad  in  the  society 
of  the  man  who,  self-absorbed  dyspeptic  as  he  was, 
could  rouse  into  genuine  enthusiasm  over  the  beau- 
ties of  the  land  he  had  chosen  as  a  home. 

When  Gilbert  had  left  America  at  the  end  of  the 
previous  summer,  his  first  need  had  been  to  put 
a  space  of  travel  between  himself  and  the  beginning 
of  a  new  chapter.  To  let  fresh  scenes  and  faces 
dull  the  too  keen  memories  and  regrets  that  he  took 
with  him.  He  was  not  the  first  to  try  such  a  remedy, 
nor  the  first  to  discover  its  uselessness.  He  soon 
found  that  lounging  about  among  mountains  or  ruins 
was  not  the  way  to  forget.  As  he  watched  some  little 

219 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

sunset  cloud  drifting  against  a  mountain  peak,  his 
instinct  was  to  call  Isabel  Broderick's  attention  to 
it.  When  palaces  and  churches  brought  new  his- 
toric ideas  to  him,  he  imagined  her  replies  to  his 
theories.  The  sight  of  a  sad  woman's  face  under 
a  mourning-veil,  of  a  mother's  arms  around  her 
child  —  but  what  was  there  that  did  not  take  his 
thoughts  flying  back  to  her,  true  as  a  homing  pigeon  ? 

Then,  being  in  a  way  a  resolute  man,  he  tried 
a  stricter  regimen,  and  went  off  to  Vienna  where 
the  man  who  stood  as  one  of  the  world's  heads 
to  his  special  line  of  work  was  propounding  some 
startling  new  theories. 

The  working  out  of  these  kept  him  absorbed  as 
nothing  else  could  have  done.  Not  too  absorbed, 
however,  that  he  did  not  have  time  to  read  the  col- 
umns of  the  American  society  papers,  to  listen  to 
the  chatter  of  any  woman  whom  he  thought  might 
mention  the  name  he  hungered  to  hear.  Always 
he  kept  before  him  that  in  a  few  weeks,  he  must  go 
to  England  and  find  out  more  about  this  uncle 
of  his,  find  out,  too,  what  were  the  first  steps  neces- 
sary to  the  claiming  of  his  inheritance.  He  had  no 
longer  any  doubts  as  to  doing  that,  but  he  had  now 
what  seemed  to  him  like  riches,  at  least  enough  to 
free  him  from  sordid  cares,  and  was  it  not  his  duty 
to  follow  out  these  experiments  to  the  end  ?  It  was, 
indeed,  a  great  chance  for  him  to  be  able  to  do 
so,  but  he  would  go  at  Christmas.  Yes,  he  cer- 
tainly would  go  at  Christmas. 

But  the  Fates  must  have  laughed  as  he  said  so, 
for  just  as  Vienna  was  putting  on  her  festive  array 
—  and  a  very  smart  array  it  was  —  he  received  a 


220 


letter  from  an  American  doctor  in  Florence,  enclos- 
ing a  few  scrawled  lines,  hardly  legible: 

"  DEAR  OLD  BOY  :  —  Heard  from  some  one  you're 
in  Vienna.     Here  I  am  —  enteric  fever  up  the  Nile 
—  relapse  here.     Think  my  time's  up.     Could  you 
come  and  help  me  settle  about  the  kids? 
"  Yours, 

"DICK  BRINDLE." 

The  doctor  added  his  opinion  that  there  was  small 
chance  of  the  patient  rallying  from  his  excessive 
weakness,  and  that  when  conscious  he  seemed  anx- 
ious and  depressed  about  his  family  affairs.  If  any 
friend  could  come  to  him,  it  would  certainly  be  an 
advantage. 

Xnw,  Dick  Brindle  had  been  to  Gilbert  as  a 
brother  during  school  and  college  days.  A  pluckily 
fragile  little  fellow,  he  had  at  the  age  of  fifteen 
seen  a  luxurious  home  go  to  pieces  around  him, 
leaving  two  baby  brothers  more  helpless  than  him- 
self. He  scrambled  into  a  newspaper  office  and  held 
his  own  there  with  a  tenacity  of  grip,  gradually 
working  himself  on  until  he  had  done  well  as  a 
war  correspondent  up  the  Nile  with  the  English 
troops  in  the  past  September. 

Gilbert  knew  that  he  was  on  his  homeward  way 
and  had  been  expecting  to  hear  from  him,  and  now 
he  had  heard  with  a  vengeance.  There  was  no  doubt 
in  his  mind  as  to  going.  Dick  had  appealed  to 
him,  that  was  enough. 

There  was  a  sigh  given  to  the  thought  of  the 
week  that  he  had  intended  to  spend  in  Paris,  for  he 
had  cherished  an  idea  that  there,  if  anywhere,  he 

221 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

might  find  Mrs.  Broderick.  True,  he  must  not  seek 
her,  but  if  by  any  chance —  Well,  however  that 
might  be,  it  must  wait  now. 

His  trunk  was  packed  and  he  was  off  within  a 
few  hours  of  his  summons.  His  reward  came  when, 
standing  in  a  small  dark  bedroom  in  a  Florence 
hotel,  he  saw  the  flicker  of  a  familiarly  whimsical 
smile  on  a  face  so  pinched  and  waxy  that  life  seemed 
to  have  but  little  to  do  with  it. 

For  a  few  weeks  Gilbert's  existence  was  one 
of  those  hand-to-hand  combats  with  death  which 
most  of  us  have  fought  in  our  time.  Then,  one 
day: 

"  You've  won,  old  fellow,  though  whether  you'll 
find  it  was  worth  the  trouble  is  another  question," 
said  Brindle,  over  a  bowl  of  soup.  "  And  how  do 
you  mean  to  celebrate  your  victory?  By  an  orgie 
of  old  masters?  " 

Gilbert  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and,  lying  back  in  an 
armchair,  contemplated  his  ghastly  treasure-trove 
with  satisfaction. 

"  By  swearing  a  bit  at  you  now  and  then  when 
you  get  fractious.  It  didn't  seem  exactly  polite  to 
a  dying  man,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"  But  I'm  afraid  I'll  get  more  fractious.  That  is, 
people  always  do  when  they  are  getting  better,  don't 
they  ?  "  was  the  rueful  answer. 

"  You'd  better  just  wait  until  you  find  the  use 
of  your  legs,  then,  that's  all.  Go  to  sleep  now,  like 
the  blessed  baby  you  are,  while  I  go  for  a  walk." 

This  walk  took  him  around  by  Cook's  office, 
where  he  made  inquiries  as  to  the  different  north- 
ward routes,  reading  out  various  items  from  time- 
tables to  his  friend  that  evening.  But  these  an- 

goo 


A   WANDERER\ 

ticipations  were  promptly  quenched  next  day  by 
the  well-known  American  doctor,  who  has  been 
such  a  good  friend  to  so  many  of  his  country-folk 
in  Florence. 

"  I  won't  be  responsible  for  him  if  he  leaves  here 
before  three  weeks  or  so.  You  must  see  yourself," 
he  appealed  to  Gilbert,  "  that  if  he  met  a  cold  snap 
on  the  journey  it  might  knock  him  up  again,  and 
in  that  case  —  '  Here  he  left  a  silence  which  his 
listeners  had  no  difficulty  in  rilling  in. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  get  off  on  Saturday  or  Mon- 
day," Brindle  said,  with  a  fine  air  of  carelessness. 
It  was  the  hour  in  the  day  when  he  was  promoted 
to  sit  at  a  window  and  gaze  out  on  the  varied  out- 
line of  Florentine  house-tops  and  spires,  and  when 
Gilbert  allowed  him  to  talk  most  freely. 

There  had  been  a  ruminative  silence  between 
them  now  while  the  sunset  splendour  filled  the  room. 

"  Saturday  or  Monday  ?  "  Gilbert  made  answer, 
slowly,  "  no,  I  think  I  might  as  well  hang  on  for 
a  bit  longer  and  see  how  you  get  along." 

"  Look  here,"  came  with  new  energy  from  Brin- 
dle, "  I  see  now  that  I  was  a  weak  coward  to  send 
for  you  at  all.  I  don't  think  I'd  have  done  it  but  for 
those  kids,  and  wanting  to  make  sure  that  you'd  be 
their  guardian."  Here  he  choked  for  a  bit,  but  in 
a  moment  went  on,  bravely :  "  I'll  do  all  right  by 
myself  now,  anyway." 

"There's  gratitude  for  you,"  scoffed  Gilbert, 
cheerfully,  "  and  now  will  you  state  your  reasons 
for  supposing  that  I  am  in  such  a  devil  of  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  think  that  I  was  listening  one  day 
when  Baldor  spoke  of  your  meeting  Doctor  Sproules 
in  Paris  and  you  said  that  you  must  be  in  England 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

long  before  that,  and  might  be  detained  there  on 
important  business.  I  suppose  you  meant  what  you 
said." 

Gilbert  laughed  shortly. 

"  You  little  viper,  to  trick  me  like  that !  Well, 
were  you  never  glad  of  an  excuse  to  dodge  the 
beginning  of  a  difficult  and  unpleasant  piece  of 
business?  That's  the  way  with  me  at  present.  Let 
me  give  you  your  medicine  so  as  to  prepare  you 
for  a  dime-novel  romance  —  pirates,  slave-traders, 
hidden  treasure,  and  all  the  rest." 

The  room  was  dark  when  Gilbert,  having  finished 
his  tale,  asked: 

"  There,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  And  it  is  more  than  six  months  since  you  first 
heard  of  this  will  that  leaves  you  a  fortune?"  his 
patient  demanded,  eagerly. 

"  The  chance  of  a  fortune,  the  disturbing,  uncer- 
tain chance  of  a  fortune.  How  can  I  tell  what  legal 
whirlpools  and  rocks  may  lie  between  that  chance 
and  smooth  waters  ?  " 

"  Man  alive,  how  can  you  ever  find  out  unless 
you  try?  If  you  want  to  know  what  I  think,  I 
think  that  you've  been  a  fool.  That  is,"  he  added, 
more  slowly,  "  unless  there  is  something  in  the 
affair  that  I  haven't  understood."  Here  his  tone 
became  slightly  neutral,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
black  outline  of  a  turret  against  the  primrose  sky. 
"  I  think  you  said  that  you  have  told  the  whole 
story  to  no  one  save  Mrs.  Broderick?  " 

Gilbert  made  a  slight  movement  at  the  strange- 
ness of  hearing  the  familiar  name  again. 

"  She  did  not  hear  it  all.     I  —  I  have  not  seen 


A   WANDERER 

her  since  my  mother  told  it  to  me,"  he  answered, 
simply. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  you've  told  it  to  me  now, 
and  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do 
next?" 

Gilbert  laughed. 

"  What  tyrants  one's  patients  become !  May  I 
humbly  venture  to  state  that  when  I  reach  London 
I  intend  taking  a  Boston  letter  of  introduction  to 
a  solicitor,  telling  him  my  tale  and  asking  his  ad- 
vice." 

"  You  do  ?  Well,  then,  will  you  start  off  on 
Monday  and  go  and  do  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  intend  to  wait  for  a  week  or  two  and 
hale  you  off  with  me." 

"  That  depends,  my  friend." 

Each  was  determined,  and  the  argument  was 
longer  than  Gilbert  thought  good  for  his  patient, 
but  how  was  he  to  leave  one  so  helpless  to  travel 
alone?  At  length  they  came  to  a  compromise  that 
Gilbert  should  stay  on  for  a  bit  if  he  would  write 
at  once  to  the  London  solicitor,  stating  his  case 
and  asking  for  advice. 

"  What  I  intend  to  do  now,  is  to  get  back  the 
use  of  these  legs  of  mine  and  cheat  you  two  doctors. 
You  always  said  I  had  the  obstinacy  of  a  bulldog 
and  I  mean  to  bring  it  into  play." 

He  did,  the  next  day  clamouring  to  be  taken  out 
in  a  carriage,  which  feat,  being  once  accomplished, 
became  a  daily  one.  save  when  a  bath-chair  took  its 
place.  A  quaint  figure  he  made,  the  shrunken  young 
fellow  with  the  handsome  head,  and  the  light- 
hearted,  feeble  laughter.  The  old  man  who  dragged 
his  chair,  and  on  whom  he  experimented  gaily  in 

225 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Italian,  thought  him  madder  but  far  more  amiable 
than  the  generality  of  the  "  forestieri,"  and  the 
flower-sellers  learned  to  track  his  path  and  persuade 
him  to  heap  the  bunches  of  narcissus  or  red  anemo- 
nes around  him,  until  he  announced  that  he  looked 
like  nothing  save  a  legless  Bacchus. 

"  And  now  we  must  see  the  sights  that  a  poor 
cripple  can  reach,"  he  said,  and  Gilbert  did  all  he 
could  to  carry  out  the  wish. 


226 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

PERSEPHONE 

WHOEVER  has  taken  care  of  an  invalid 
knows  what  tales  may  be  woven  from  the 
slimmest  incidents  to  bring  back  to  the 
sick-room  a  bit  of  the  outside  world.  Gilbert  Clinch 
was  by  nature  a  reticent  man,  but  now  the  little 
adventure  in  the  Fiesole  amphitheatre  was  spun  out 
to  its  fullest  extent,  and  Brindle  was  well  up  on  the 
subject  of  the  English  girl's  hair  and  eyes,  even  her 
dress. 

"  It  will  be  nice  to  see  some  smart  girls  again," 
he  said,  "  only  I'm  afraid  that  in  my  feeble  mental 
state  I  shall  fall  in  love  with  the  first  one  I  come 
across." 

"  Then  you  will  probably  have  to  fall  out  of  love 
again,"  Gilbert  retorted. 

They  were  sitting  in  a  sunny  nook  in  the  Boboli 
Gardens,  the  invalid  in  a  bath-chair,  his  friend  beside 
him  on  a  bench.  Beneath  them  — 

11  White  and  wide 

And  washed  by  the  morning  water-gold 
Florence  lay  out  on  the  mountain-side." 

Beyond  the  city  domes  and  spires  rose  the  dark 
curve  of  Morello,  and  away  to  the  south  —  like  the 

«rr 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

far-off  city  of  the  soul  —  gleamed  the  white  Cararra 
peaks. 

At  their  feet  a  great  circle  of  turf  was  starred 
with  anemones,  and  sparrows  bathed  and  twittered 
in  the  splash  of  a  central  fountain.  Brindle,  look- 
ing round  on  it  all  with  a  convalescent's  content, 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  satisfaction. 

"  Jove,  but  it's  a  good  world  to  be  alive  in !  "  he 
said.  "  Think  of  being  hidden  under  the  earth  on 
a  day  like  this,  under  the  earth  with  one's  life 
unlived,  like  so  many  of  those  poor  fellows  out  there 
on  the  Nile  —  like  I  came  so  near  being  myself." 
He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  Somehow  the  spring 
in  the  air  goes  to  one's  head,  and  one  feels  as  though 
the  old  Gods  of  the  land  ought  to  be  awakening. 
And  by  the  whole  Olympus  of  them,"  with  sudden 
energy,  "  here  comes  the  very  Goddess  of  Spring 
herself." 

Up  the  terraced  path  toward  them  came  a  girl  in 
a  dress  of  light  gray  with  big  black  hat  wreathed 
with  spring  flowers  and  carrying  in  her  hands  a 
great  cluster  of  daffodils.  The  morning  light  was 
on  her  face,  and  she  was  laughing  at  something  said 
by  the  prim  old  companion  who  followed  her  like 
a  shadow. 

"  Keep  calm,"  Gilbert  said,  "  this  is  the  girl  I 
told  you  of." 

As  Margaret  saw  him  she  bowed  smilingly,  and 
was  apparently  about  to  pass  on  around  the  circling 
path  to  the  flight  of  steps  that  led  to  a  higher  bank. 
Was  it  the  sight  of  the  wistful  expectancy  in  a  pale 
young  face  that  checked  her  and  caused  her  to  linger 
so  that  Gilbert  must  needs  come  forward  to  greet 
her? 

228 


PERSEPHONE 

"  What  a  warm,  sunny  corner  you  have  chosen," 
she  said,  in  frank  greeting,  "  but  I  am  sorry  to  see 
your  friend  is  ill,"  with  a  glance  that  set  the  bath- 
chair  quivering. 

"  Thanks,  but  I  hope  he  is  well  on  the  way  to 
recovery  now."  Gilbert  hesitated  and  then  plunged 
boldly  in.  "  It  would  be  a  great  kindness  if  you 
would  come  and  talk  to  him  for  a  bit.  He  has  seen 
no  one  save  me  for  weeks." 

Margaret  laughed.  "  And  is  tired  of  you  ?  I 
see.  Of  course  we  love  to  play  the  Good  Samaritan, 
don't  we,  madame?  Come  and  introduce  us,  please." 

Seldom  does  a  woman  show  to  better  advantage 
than  in  talking  to  a  sick  man,  all  the  latent  motherli- 
ness  rousing  in  her  to  help  him,  if  only  with  a 
few  cheerful  words.  So  now,  as  with  one  quick 
glance,  Margaret  took  in  the  sight  of  the  blanched, 
wasted  hands  lying  so  listlessly  on  the  rug,  the 
carefully  buttoned  overcoat,  and  the  deep  hollows 
around  the  eyes  that  shone  with  young  love  of  life, 
a  great  gentleness  came  over  her. 

Taking  a  seat  on  the  bench  beside  the  bath-chair, 
she  said : 

"  It  must  be  good  to  be  here  in  the  sunshine,  for 
you  have  been  ill,  I  hear." 

"  That  can  all  be  a  dream  of  the  night  now  that 
I  sit  here  like  a  prince,  with  such  a  bit  of  the  king- 
doms of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them  spread 
out  below  me,  and  with  spring  coming  to  me  in  the 
hands  of  Persephone,  — 

" «  She  stepped  upon  Sicilian  grass, 
Demeter's  daughter  fresh  and  fair,' " 

the  young  fellow  quoted  eagerly. 

229 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Margaret  gave  a  little  pleased  laugh,  as  she  held 
out  her  flowers  to  him  to  see. 

"  How  nice  of  you !  Did  you  think  of  the  rest 
of  the  verse,  — 

" '  The  daffodils  were  fair  to  see, 
They  nodded  lightly  on  the  lea, 
Persephone !     Persephone  ! ' 

I  love  to  give  those  dear  old  outcast  phantoms  a 
share  of  their  lost  haunts  on  days  like  this.  But 
you  are  sketching?  "  seeing  a  little  note-book  lying 
on  his  knee. 

Gilbert  laughed. 

"  The  sketching  is  a  series  of  vile  caricatures  of 
me.  I  figure  making  beef-tea  —  for  I  have  learned 
of  late  to  make  beef-tea ;  slumbering  in  an  armchair 
in  the  night  watches,  with  my  head  near  a  candle, 
and  so  forth.  There's  the  gratitude  of  a  patient  for 
you.  Hand  them  over,  you  sinner,"  and  reaching 
down,  he  appropriated  the  book  and  held  it  out 
with  fluttering  leaves  to  Miss  Nugent. 

But  a  confidential  sketch-book  is  risky  to  handle, 
and  the  first  thing  that  Margaret  came  on  was  a 
rough  sketch  outlining  the  semicircle  of  the  Fiesole 
amphitheatre,  on  the  top  steps  of  which  stood  a 
beautiful,  wrathful  Bellona  aiming  a  stone  at  a 
cowering  figure  below,  with  Gilbert's  aquiline  nose 
exaggerated  into  caricature.  Behind  Bellona  a  few 
touches  suggested  an  elderly  figure  in  modern  dress. 

The  corners  of  Margaret's  mouth  quivered,  as  she 
said,  demurely: 

"  You  certainly  seem  to  have  classical  allusions 
at  your  finger-tips,  Mr.  Brindle.  First  Persephone, 
then  —  is  it  Pallas  Athene  or  Bellona?"  and  with 
that  the  frank  laughter  broke  out. 

230 


PERSEPHONE 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  looked  like  school- 
boys detected  in  drawing  the  head-master;  then 
they  too  joined  in  the  laugh. 

"  It  was  all  Clinch's  fault,"  his  friend  protested. 
"  He  would  do  nothing  all  that  evening  but  talk  of 
his  surprise  at  the  stone  and  his  pleasure  in  finding 
his  partner  of  the  night  before,  so  to  relieve  the 
black  envy  of  an  overcharged  heart  —  " 

"  You  perpetuated  an  injustice,"  Margaret  inter- 
rupted, "  for  if  Mr.  Clinch  told  you  the  truth,  he 
said  that  it  was  not  I  who  dropped  the  stone,  but 
madame,"  and  she  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on  the 
arm  of  that  worthy  lady,  who  made  a  little  sound 
of  dismay. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  have  been  longing  to  ask  if 
my  unfortunate  awkwardness  caused  you  any  pain 
or  inconvenience."  the  poor  soul  fluttered. 

"  Not  at  all,  madame."  he  hastened  to  say,  good- 
naturedly.  "  It  was  only  told  as  a  joke  to  entertain 
a  bored  and  fractious  individual." 

"  It  was  told  with  deliberate  design  to  make  me 
envious.  I,  who  for  months  had  only  seen  the  oily 
beauties  of  Nubia  and  the  Soudan,  and  who,  as  soon 
as  I  get  back  to  civilisation,  am  dumped  down  like 
a  log  in  a  back  bedroom  for  weeks.  But  now,"  — 
pointing  the  word  with  an  audacious  glance  at  Mar- 
garet, —  "  I  am  in  that  state  of  Christian  beatitude 
that  I  can  forgive  him  anything." 

"  That's  just  as  well,  or  I  might  take  you  home 
and  put  you  to  bed,"  Gilbert  put  in. 

"  Felice  would  stand  my  friend.  Isn't  he  a 
delightfully  picturesque  ruffian  ?  "  Brindle  said,  nod- 
ding toward  a  tattered  being  on  a  bench  near  by. 

231 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  Do  you  often  get  out  now  ?  "  Margaret  asked. 

"  This  is  the  opening  scene  to  a  wild  career  of 
dissipation,"  Gilbert  said.  "  We  mean  to  bask  in 
the  sunshine  like  lizards.  To-morrow,  if  it  is  fine, 
we  shall  cab  it  to  San  Miniato  and  spend  the  morn- 
ing there.  Then  I  have  prospected  the  sheltered 
spots  about  the  Viale  dei  Colli  for  his  benefit.  I'm 
glad  now  that  our  quarters  are  on  this  side  of  the 
river." 

"  Are  they?  "  Margaret  said,  with  interest.  "  My 
grandmother's  villa  is  half-way  up  the  Viale,  the 
pink  one  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  with  a  snake  on  the 
top  of  each  gate-post  —  Villa  della  Biscia  the  people 
began  to  call  it,  and  now  even  our  friends  put  the 
name  on  notes.  It's  an  uncanny  crest  to  have," 
and  she  gave  a  little  shudder. 

"  Is  it  yours,  too  ?  "  Gilbert  asked,  with  an  unde- 
fined impulse  to  keep  her  to  personal  topics.  The 
girl  had  somehow  succeeded  in  arousing  his  curi- 
osity. 

"  Oh,  no,  Granny  has  it  all  to  herself,  I'm  happy 
to  say." 

Just  then  the  soft  swell  of  the  Angelus  rose  in 
its  daily  oblation  from  the  hundred  bells  of  the  city 
below. 

"  I  always  think  that  at  twilight  one  might  see 
the  sound  spirits  going  upwards,"  Margaret  said, 
gently,  then  as  she  felt  a  timid  touch  on  her  arm : 

"  Oh,  madame,  yes,  I  know.  We  shall  hardly 
manage  to  get  home  in  time  for  dejeuner,  and  what 
a  fuss  there  will  be.  We  must  say  good  morning 
and  run  away." 

"  Well,"  said  Brindle,  drawing  a  deep  breath  as 


232 


PERSEPHONE 

he  watched  the  slim  gray  figure  down  the  long  vista 
of  the  path,  "  that  was  a  piece  of  luck  anyhow." 

14  Was  it?  "  Gilbert  responded,  absently.  "  Per- 
haps that  remains  to  be  seen.  I  never  meet  a  new 
person  but  I  wonder  what  they  may  bring  with 
them.  Good  luck  or  bad." 

"  And  most  of  them  merely  bring  a  pebble  to  add 
to  the  cairn  of  boredom,  which  is  the  gift  of  man 
to  man." 

"  And  of  women  ?  " 

"  Oh,  women !  That's  a  different  question.  I 
know  that  my  Persephone  brought  me  a  pleasant 
half-hour,  to  which  may  the  gods  send  an  encore." 

It  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that,  given  the  vari- 
ous sunny  lounging-places  on  one  side  of  the  winding 
hillside  boulevard,  and  the  facility  with  which  the 
pink  Villa  della  Biscia  could  be  identified,  the  bath- 
chair  was  more  than  once  the  following  week  en- 
countered in  that  neighbourhood  by  a  young  woman 
taking  her  walks  abroad  under  proper  chaperonage. 
Never  had  Florence  known  calmer,  sunnier  morn- 
ings, mornings  when  it  was  joy  to  feel  life  and  youth 
coming  back,  and  to  watch  a  girl's  cheek  curving 
with  a  smile,  to  see  the  quick  flash  of  responsive 
thought  in  her  eyes,  even  before  the  words  came. 

And  Gilbert  watched  the  small  idyl  with  secret 
misgivings,  noting  the  girl's  little  outbursts  of  frank 
unconventionally  and  her  unvarying  kindness  to 
his  friend,  and  remembering  how  he  had  heard  the 
Sinnets  speak  of  her  as  an  up-to-date  society  girl 
with  all  the  ways  of  her  type.  During  the  past 
six  months  which  seemed  to  form  a  gap  between  him 
and  the  realities  of  his  life  he  had  seen  no  woman 
who  really  aroused  his  curiosity  and  had  given  him 

233 


BUBBLES    WE    BUY 

any  desire  to  understand  her  character  as  much  as 
did  this  one. 

"  There  are  hidden  fires  there,"  he  said,  one  night, 
to  Brindle,  as  they  sat  smoking.  "  Warring  heredi- 
tary traits  of  alien  races  that  change  the  character 
as  one  side  or  the  other  gets  uppermost." 

"  I  thought  it  was  about  time  for  your  hereditary 
fetich  to  be  trotted  out,"  Brindle  grunted.  "  But 
all  the  same  you  needn't  speak  as  though  the  girl 
were  a  mulatto.  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  of 
mixed  race?  " 

"  She  has  an  English  name  and  an  exotic  face 
and  nature." 

"  She  has  a  sweet  face  and  a  kind  nature.  Not 
many  girls  would  bother  about  a  wretched  cripple 
as  she  does,"  the  other  protested,  vehemently. 

"  No,  she  has  been  charming,"  Gilbert  agreed,  as 
he  rose  to  go  and  finish  the  evening  at  the  Sinnets'. 

It  was  after  the  third  of  these  more  or  less  casual 
meetings  that,  on  their  homeward  way,  Margaret  an- 
nounced to  her  companion : 

"  Stivvie,  I  am  sure  you  must  be  suffering  from 
an  evil  conscience." 

"  My  d«ar,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  came  with  a 
nervous  gasp. 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  what  could  I  mean  but  that  you 
have  forgotten  to  mention  to  Granny  these  two 
young  men  whom  you  have  been  meeting  —  let  me 
see.  once,  twice,  thrice  —  " 

"  /  have  been  meeting?  My  dear  child,  what  will 
you  say  next?"  remonstrated  her  friend. 

"  What  I  am  going  to  say  next  is  that  I  am 
going  to  peach.  I  shall  confess  all,  Stivvie." 


234 


PERSEPHONE 

"  But  I  shall  be  turned  out  into  the  world,"  the 
poor  old  lady  protested. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I'll  see  you  clear.  You  leave  it 
to  me."  And  with  a  meek  sigh  madame  agreed  to 
this. 

Madame  de  Barre  had  got  through  her  third  rich 
dish,  and  the  grimness  of  her  countenance  was 
somewhat  relaxed.  She  had  also  driven  a  hard 
bargain  with  a  countrywoman  that  morning  for  a 
string  of  the  old  gold  and  coral  beads  which  are 
growing  rare.  She  had  a  love  for  collecting  all 
such  sorts  of  trinkets,  and  now  sat  at  the  table 
lovingly  fingering  the  beads. 

"  Granny,  do  you  remember  the  American  man  I 
danced  with  at  the  Delia  Rovere's?"  Margaret 
asked,  true  to  her  usual  bold  policy  with  her  ven- 
erable ancestress. 

Madame  Esti valet  jumped  as  though  a  pin  had 
been  stuck  into  her,  and  her  tyrant  withered  her 
with  a  baleful  glance  before  she  answered,  shortly : 

"  I  do,  certainly.  I  trust  you  have  not  been  picking 
up  any  more  such  acquaintances." 

"  Well,"  came  the  demure  answer,  "  we  did  meet 
him  this  morning  up  at  San  Miniato  —  you  know, 
Granny,  you  said  that  long  walks  were  so  good  for 
my  complexion  —  and  there  was  such  a  poor  des- 
perately ill-looking  young  fellow  with  him  that  I 
couldn't  help  stopping  to  say  something  kind  to 
him  —  " 

"You  spoke  to  these  men!     If  the  Marchesa  di 
Ripamonti  should  hear  of  it !  "  shrieked  the  old  lady, 
like  an  angry  cockatoo.     "  And  you,  Estivalet  - 
she  was  turning  on  the  trembling  companion  when 
Margaret  made  her  voice  heard  again : 

235 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  It  seems  that  Mr.  Clinch  is  really  a  doctor  —  " 

"  Mr.  who?"  came  in  a  curiously  changed  voice, 
like  a  child's  that  hears  a  dreaded  name. 

"  Mr.  Clinch,  you  know.  It  seems  that  he  has 
been  delayed  here  for  weeks  by  the  illness  of  his 
friend,  who  had  enteric  fever  up  the  Nile,  when  he 
was  war  correspondent,  and  had  a  relapse  on  the 
way  home.  Such  a  young  fellow  he  looks." 

"  Was  that  why  he  came  here?  "  the  old  lady  ques- 
tioned, abruptly. 

"Who?  Mr.  Clinch?  Yes,  I  think  so.  He 
seems  devoted  to  his  friend.  He  knows  the  Sinnets, 
he  says." 

"Knows  the  Sinnets,  does  he?  Well,  we  must 
find  out  who  this  young  man  is,  who  seems  to  hover 
about.  What  did  you  say  his  first  name  was  ?  " 

Now  Margaret  had  not  said,  and  she  rather  won- 
dered that  her  grandmother  should  think  of  asking. 
However,  she  answered,  demurely: 

"  It  begins  with  G,  for  I  saw  that  on  a  letter  in 
his  hand." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  in  a  less  interested  voice.  "  And 
now,  my  dear,  order  the  carriage.  By  the  bye,  it's 
Mrs.  Sinnet's  day  and  we  might  as  well  pay  her  a 
visit.  I  want  to  ask  her  about  that  washerwoman 
she  recommended." 


236 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
THE  GORGON'S  HEAD 

"  TT  HAVE  been  put  through  my  paces  on  your 
account  to-day.  What  have  you  done  to 

-*•  arouse  such  an  interest  in  the  Gorgon's 
breast?"  Mrs.  Sinnet  said  to  Gilbert,  as  they  sat 
over  a  bright  little  wood  fire  in  her  drawing-room 
the  next  evening.  Mr.  Sinnet  was  taking  that  abso- 
lute repose  which  he  found  necessary  to  his  digestion 
for  half  an  hour  after  dinner. 

"  What  Gorgon  ?  "  Gilbert  asked,  bewildered. 

"Oh,  don't  you  know  the  name?  That's  what 
people  call  old  Madame  de  Barre.  She  was  here 
with  her  pretty  granddaughter  yesterday  and  wanted 
to  hear  a  great  deal  more  about  you  than  I  ever 
knew  myself.  Have  you  been  making  love  to  the 
young  woman,  par  exemplef  " 

Gilbert  laughed. 

"  You  must  blame  Brindle,  not  me,"  he  said. 
"  His  pathetic  appearance  seems  to  have  stirred  her 
woman's  kindness,  so  that  she  and  the  quaint  old 
French  lady  have  once  or  twice  loitered  to  chat  with 
us  in  their  walks.  She  seems  a  fine  creature,  full 
of  possibilities,  doesn't  she?"  he  added,  carelessly. 

Mrs.  Sinnet  sent  one  quick  glance  over  her  fire- 
screen to  see  if  the  carelessness  were  genuine,  but 

237 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

observed  nothing  to  confirm  the  suspicion.  She  had 
not  thought  in  the  afternoon  that  Margaret's  inter- 
est was  for  the  invalid. 

"  Well,  I  am  under  orders  to  take  you  to  the  Villa 
della  Biscia  reception  to-morrow.  Suitable  name  for 
the  Gorgon's  den,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  her.  For  all  I  know  she  may  be 
a  much  maligned  character.  But  really,  I  hardly 
see  the  good  of  going  there  now  when  I  hope  to  be 
off  in  a  week  or  so." 

Mrs.  Sinnet  stared  into  the  fire  thoughtfully. 
Being  a  lady  of  vivid  imagination,  she  never  brought 
a  man  and  girl  together  without  foreseeing  possi- 
bilities. 

"  Doesn't  it  seem  as  though  you  were  bound  to  go 
after  meeting  the  girl  and  talking  to  her  casually?  " 
she  suggested. 

"  Well,  just  as  you  like,"  he  agreed.  "  Will  it  be 
a  very  grand  function  ?  " 

"  There  will  be  a  crowd,  mostly  Italian  old  ladies 
and  priests,  and  an  assortment  of  the  most  fossilised 
English  element.  Not  many  low-down  Americans 
like  me." 

"And  how  do  you  gain  admittance?"  Gilbert 
asked,  idly. 

"  Well,  you  see  I  have  a  cousin  who  married  a 
Roman  duke,  and  that  always  comes  in  handy.  Be- 
sides that,  the  devout  dowagers  are  under  orders  to 
smile  upon  me  and  entice  me  into  the  right  path. 
There  is  a  charming  bishop  angling  for  my  soul  just 
now.  It  is  such  fun  and  gives  me  a  glimpse  of  the 
old-fashioned  Italian  society  at  its  best.  You  know, 
I  am  like  St.  Paul's  Athenians  and  would  sell  what 
soul  I  have  for  a  new  sensation.  I  have  only  to 


THE    GORGON'S    HEAD 

appear  at  benediction  and  a  dozen  old  countesses  are 
after  me  for  the  honour  and  glory  of  my  conversion. 
And  that,  you  see,  is  how  I  come  to  be  admitted  to 
the  Gorgon's  den/' 

"  It's  a  great  thing  to  be  catholic  in  your  tastes, 
but  then  perhaps  even  these  dowagers  are  capable 
of  enjoying  a  little  added  spice  to  their  daily  gossip. 
I  trust  I  may  prove  a  credit  to  you.  And  now," 
rising,  "  I  must  get  back  to  see  to  my  patient's  sleep- 
ing draught." 

"How  is  he?" 

"  Well,  doctors  differ.  I  think  better  of  him  than 
Balder  does.  I  sincerely  trust  I  am  right.  An 
revoirl " 

When  Mrs.  Sinnet's  smart  little  victoria  swept  up 
the  carriage  drive  of  the  Villa  della  Biscia  there  were 
already  several  heavy  family  vehicles  at  the  door. 

"  Why  should  old  ladies'  carriages  have  the  same 
stamp  all  the  world  over?"  queried  Mrs.  Sinnet. 

That  lady  was  looking  very  smart  in  elaborate 
mauve  draperies  around  which  ran  outlines  of  dull 
sage  green  and  silver. 

"  Humphry  designed  it,"  she  said,  in  answer  to 
Gilbert's  expressed  admiration.  "  That's  one  good, 
at  any  rate,  in  having  an  aesthetic  husband,"  and  it 
might  almost  have  seemed  as  though  she  considered 
it  a  lot  requiring  alleviations. 

As  they  entered,  Gilbert  looked  around  with  the 
instinct  of  one  who  had  often  used  surroundings  as 
an  aid  to  deciphering  character.  The  first  thing 
that  struck  him  was  the  curious  mixture  of  really 
valuable  old  Italian  furniture  and  stuffs  with  tawdry 
modern  materials.  It  suggested  to  him  the  palace  of 
some  Eastern  potentate,  where  glass  chandeliers 

239 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

from  Birmingham  hang  beside  priceless  old  lamps 
of  inlaid  metals. 

But  to-day  the  setting  lost  interest  in  the  groups 
that  filled  the  vista  of  the  rooms.  Awesome-looking 
old  ladies  in  those  black  costumes  which  seem  put 
together  from  a  rag-bag  of  satins  and  laces,  were 
throned  on  sofas  and  deferentially  talked  to  by  gray- 
haired  men  with  the  coloured  buttons  of  various 
orders  against  their  black  coats,  while  the  younger, 
more  fashionably  dressed  women,  chattered  with  offi- 
cers in  the  Bersaglieri  black  and  crimson  or  the  blue 
and  silver  of  the  cavalry.  It  was  true  that  the 
foreign  element  was  the  largest,  but  still  there  was 
a  sprinkling  of  smart  Americans  and  comfortable- 
looking  English  mammas  with  their  trim  half-pay 
colonels  and  generals,  and  big  daughters  talking 
loudly  of  golf  and  tennis.  In  fact,  there  was  a  little 
of  all  the  component  parts  of  cosmopolitan  society  in 
its  staider  form. 

Gilbert  followed  in  Mrs.  Sinnet's  wake  through 
the  rooms,  toward  the  central  point  where,  enthroned 
in  a  high-backed  old  Florentine  chair,  sat  the  hostess. 

A  weird  figure  it  was,  that  of  this  little  shapeless 
old  woman,  huddled  down  in  the  shining  folds  of 
her  crimson  brocade,  on  which  numerous  diamond 
ornaments  matched  the  hawklike  brilliancy  of  the 
black  eyes  glowing  in  the  parchment  face. 

Made  a  keen  observer  by  his  profession,  Gilbert 
felt  an  insistent  spell  in  the  questioning  of  those  eyes, 
fixed  on  him  as  Mrs.  Sinnet  said : 

"  You  see,  dear  madame,  I  have  brought  Mr. 
Clinch  as  you  so  kindly  suggested." 

"  So  this  is  Mr.  Gilbert  Clinch ! "  came  in  the 
shaky  voice  of  age  marked  with  a  foreign  accent, 

240 


THE   GORGON'S    HEAD 

"  the  young  gentleman  who  has  been  playing  knight- 
errant  to  my  poor  Estivalet." 

"  Indeed  it  is  she  and  Miss  Nugent  who  have 
been  kind  enough  to  speak  a  few  friendly  words  to 
my  sick  friend." 

"  I  have  heard  of  this  friend  of  yours.  It  is  he 
who  detains  you  in  Florence?  "  the  old  lady  asked. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  him  to  be  well  enough  to 
travel,"  he  said. 

"And  it  was  his  illness  that  brought  you  here? 
You  would  not  have  come  otherwise?"  she  went 
on,  with  a  strange  persistence. 

"  It  is  not  likely,  for  I  was  just  finishing  up  some 
medical  studies  in  Vienna  before  starting  for 
London." 

"You  have  never  been  in  England?"  and  if  it 
had  not  been  so  improbable  Gilbert  would  have 
thought  that  she  attached  some  importance  to  the 
question,  and  seemed  relieved  when  he  said  no. 

"  Ah,  you  had  better  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry 
to  forsake  our  Florence  spring.  They  tell  me  your 
friend  is  able  to  sit  in  a  bath-chair  in  the  sunshine. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  bring  him  to  my  terrace 
some  morning.  It  is  sheltered  and  warm.  Come 
to-morrow  if  it  is  fine.  And  now  you  will  want  to 
go  and  speak  to  my  granddaughter,  I  know,"  and 
with  a  wave  of  a  bony,  much-ringed  hand  she  dis- 
missed him. 

Gilbert,  although  he  could  hardly  have  given  any 
reason  for  it,  had  rather  the  sensation  of  having 
passed  through  an  ordeal. 

While  he  was  being  put  through  his  paces,  he 
had  been  keenly  conscious  that  Miss  Nugent,  dressed 


241 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

in  pale  green,  was  watching  his  reception  from  under 
a  curtained  archway. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  my  rescue  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  she  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting. 

"  I  thought  you  would  do  better  without  me.  And 
really,  you  must  have  bewitched  Granny !  I  haven't 
seen  her  so  smiling  for  an  age." 

He  wondered  with  a  sense  of  awe  what  her  un- 
amiable  side  might  be  like,  but  did  not  reveal  the 
sentiment. 

"  She  very  kindly  told  me  to  bring  Brindle  to- 
morrow to  sit  on  your  terrace.  That  will  delight 
him,"  he  said. 

Margaret  stared  in  amazement. 

"  Well,  I  can  only  repeat  that  you  must  have  be- 
witched her.  And  after  her  making  all  that  fuss 
about  my  sitting  out  two  dances  with  you  —  "  she 
checked  herself,  with  a  slight  blush. 

"Did  she?"  Gilbert  laughed.  "  It  must  be  that, 
since  then,  she  has  discovered  my  harmless  charac- 
ter. If  you  only  knew  how  old  and  cynical  yours 
and  Brindle's  youthful  talk  makes  me  feel." 

The  soft  dark  eyes  were  raised  to  his. 

"  I'm  sure  you  are  not  cynical,"  she  said,  gently. 

"Hullo!  in  the  absence  of  Brindle  the  siren  is 
trying  her  wiles  on  me,"  Gilbert  said  to  himself,  all 
the  while  noting,  with  a  certain  pleasure,  the  narrow 
white  hand  that  toyed  with  a  cluster  of  red  anemo- 
nes in  the  front  of  her  dress. 

"  You  keep  up  your  character  of  Persephone.  I 
see,"  he  said,  bringing  a  ready  smile  to  her  face. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Brindle !  Will  you  take  him  one  or 
two  from  me?"  she  asked. 

"  Not  I !   such  a  gift  would  be  bad  for  his  tran- 


THE    GORGON'S    HEAD 

quillity,  both  mental  and  physical,"  he  protested, 
half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest. 

"  What  a  poor  creature  you  think  me,"  she  said, 
and  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  he  had  somehow 
wounded  her. 

"  Ah,  no,  indeed !  I  think  you  a  wonder  of  kind- 
ness," he  asserted. 

But  Margaret  was  looking  anxiously  across  the 
room  to  where  a  stout,  much-ornamented  dowager 
and  an  old  gentleman  with  waxed  gray  moustache 
were  advancing. 

"  Oh,  take  me  quick  into  the  next  room  for  a 
cup  of  tea !  There  are  Mamma  and  Papa  Ripamonti 
bearing  down  upon  me.  They  are  trying  to  marry 
me  to  the  son,  you  know." 

Gilbert's  American  chivalry  was  astir  at  the  first 
word  of  a  girl's  marriage  being  arranged  by  any 
one  but  herself. 

"  But  you  won't  have  to  marry  an  Italian,  will 
you?  "  he  asked,  directly  they  were  safe  in  a  corner 
of  the  next  room. 

Margaret  looked  pleased  at  his  earnestness. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can  hardly  pose  as  a  persecuted 
heroine,  for  I  sha'n't  have  to  marry  any  one  unless 
I  choose.  If  Granny  got  too  much  for  me,  —  and 
she  sometimes  does,  I  must  confess,"  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  gravity,  —  "I  have  only  to  call  in 
my  brother  Jack  to  the  rescue.  He  wouldn't  stand 
any  nonsense." 

"  You  have  one  brother?  "  Gilbert  asked. 

"  Yes,  only  one.  And  you,  have  you  any  brothers 
or  sisters?  " 

"None!     I  am  a  solitary  being.     But  tell  me. 


243 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

how  did  your  grandmother  know  my  Christian 
name?  " 

"  She  didn't.  She  asked  me  yesterday  if  I  had 
heard  it  and  I  said  I  knew  it  began  with  G.  I  had 
seen  it  on  that  book  you  had." 

"  Well,  she  called  me  Mr.  Gilbert  Clinch  just 
now." 

"  Mrs.  Sinnet  must  have  told  her,  then.  But  I 
must  go  back.  You  will  come  to-morrow  morning, 
won't  you  ?  " 

Her  friendly  little  appeal  was  very  pleasant,  and 
as  Gilbert  left  her  to  find  Mrs.  Sinnet  he  had  to 
make  an  effort  to  revive  the  siren  theory. 

"  I've  brought  you  some  bonbons  from  the  party, 
you  young  sinner,"  was  Gilbert's  way  of  announc- 
ing to  Brindle  the  treat  that  was  in  store  for  him, 
and  the  idiotic  fashion  in  which  that  youth  behaved 
justified  him  in  having  kept  back  his  news  until  the 
last  moment. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  disgusting  lot  of  neck- 
ties beheld  by  human  eyes?  "  he  said,  ruefully,  con- 
templating his  small  supply.  "  Say,  Clinch,  don't 
you  think  you  could  go  out  and  get  me  something 
better?" 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  spend  all  the  morning 
dressing  —  "  Gilbert  began,  and  the  other  cut  him 
short  with : 

"  Of  course  I  don't.  This  navy  blue  one  will  do. 
What  o'clock  is  it  now  ?  Ten  ?  Surely  Felice  ought 
to  be  here  soon.  Poke  your  head  out  and  see,  there's 
a  good  fellow !  " 

"  Keep  cool.  He'll  come  up  to  help  you  down, 
you  know." 

They  were  pathetic  enough,  these  struggles  be- 

244 


THE    GORGON'S    HEAD 

tween  the  self-will  of  young  manhood  and  the  help- 
lessness of  weakness,  but  a  certain  whimsicality  of 
Brindle's  made  them  easier  for  both.  There  was 
something  in  the  fashion  in  which  he  scoffed  at  his 
various  afflictions  that  reminded  Clinch  of  the  much 
loved  Stevenson. 

It  was  still  early  enough  when  the  patient  Felice 
pulled  the  bath-chair  up  toward  the  Villa  della 
Biscia. 

"  Supposing  there's  no  one  in  the  garden,  will 
you  ring  at  the  door?"  asked  Brindle,  with  the 
mingled  fussiness  of  an  invalid  and  an  amorous  man. 

"  I'll  dump  you  in  the  window  if  you  say  much 
more,"  Gilbert  threatened.  "  There,  do  you  see 
that  flower-wreathed  hat  beyond  the  cypress  hedge  ? 
Now  you're  content,  I  hope?  " 

Yes,  Brindle  was  thoroughly  content  when  a 
white  serge-clad  figure  was  seen  coming  down  the 
path  to  meet  them. 

"  I've  been  picking  out  a  nice  warm  corner  for 
you,  Mr.  Brindle,  and  Madame  Estivalet  is  dragging 
out  rugs  and  cushions  for  your  benefit,"  Margaret 
said  in  greeting,  smiling  out  beneath  the  shade  of 
her  broad  hat,  over  the  brim  of  which  hung  clusters 
of  red  flowers  against  her  hair. 

No  one  who  has  not  been  in  Italy  can  know  the 
joy  of  terraces  —  terraces  to  farmhouses  where  the 
peppers  and  pumpkins  are  dried,  terraces  to  villas 
and  palaces  haunted  by  the  shades  of  old  pleasures 
and  old  sins. 

It  so  happened  that  when  this  spick  and  span 
modern  villa  had  been  built,  it  had  fallen  heir  to 
one  of  these  red-tiled  farmhouse  terraces,  clinging 


215 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

to  the  hillside  and  overlooking  the  fair  valley  of 
the  Arno  and  the  city  spires. 

Sheltered  by  one  end  of  the  house,  it  was  a  pleas- 
ant spot  even  in  winter  and  now  on  this  spring 
morning  it  was  a  joy  indeed.  There  were  heavy 
rugs  spread  over  the  red  tiles,  and  a  group  of  chairs 
—  one  especially  deep  and  cushioned. 

Margaret  looked  dubiously  from  the  bath-chair 
to  the  terrace. 

"  Would  you  rather  not  come  up  the  steps  —  " 
she  began,  when  Brindle  said,  eagerly: 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  get  out  of  this  thing  that's 
so  like  a  coffin.  Clinch,  you'll  give  me  an  arm  up  ?  " 

As  Felice  and  Gilbert  helped  him  up  the  steps, 
Margaret  turned  her  eyes  away  in  pity,  while 
Madame  Estivalet  fluttered  above  like  a  benevolent 
stork. 

Margaret  had  stooped  to  the  beds  of  many-col- 
oured anemones  and  tulips,  and  now  came  toward 
Brindle  with  a  cluster  in  her  hand. 

"  Here  are  your  flowers,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
people  who  have  been  ill  love  to  hold  and  handle 
them." 

He  took  the  flowers  with  the  single  word  "  Per- 
sephone !  "  in  which  sounded  the  tribute  of  thanks 
and  admiration. 

"  I'm  not  sure  on  second  thoughts  that  I  like  the 
name.  There's  a  creepy  feeling  of  the  dark  king 
looming  up  in  the  background,"  Margaret  said,  as 
she  settled  into  one  of  the  basket  chairs.  "  But  tell 
me,  did  you  bring  the  Soudan  sketches  you  promised 
to  show  me?  " 

"  I  have  brought  photos  which  are  better.    I  don't 


246 


THE   GORGON'S    HEAD 

do  illustrating  work,  you  know.  My  sketches  are 
just  a  matter  between  myself  and  my  —  " 

"  Conscience,"  put  in  Gilbert.  "  Here  are  the 
photos,"  pulling  a  small  package  out  of  his  pocket. 

These  were  as  grimly  interesting  as  are  all  war 
photos,  and  in  the  morning  beauty  they  looked  long 
at  pictures  of  men  sore  wounded,  or  being  carried 
to  their  graves  under  the  desert  sands.  More  cheer- 
ful ones  showed  groups  of  shirt-sleeved  men  cook- 
ing, eating,  resting. 

"  This  is  our  correspondents'  mess,  and  here  am 
I  cooking  some  bacon  —  Ah,  that  bacon !  It  was 
truly  an  oasis  in  the  desert." 

"  What  a  horrible,  uncomfortable,  dirty  thing  war 
must  be!  "  Margaret  said,  as  she  laid  the  photos 
down. 

Gilbert  was  a  bit  surprised,  having  expected  the 
usual  young  lady  cheap  heroisms  on  the  subject. 
The  girl  had  certainly  a  curious  streak  of  sincerity 
in  her. 

"  How  did  you,  an  American,  come  to  be  up  the 
Nile  as  a  war  correspondent,  instead  of  out  in  the 
Philippines?"  Margaret  asked. 

"  We  go  whither  we  are  sent ;  besides  is  there 
any  place  in  the  world  where  you  will  not  meet  a 
Jew  or  an  American,  the  oldest  and  the  newest 
products  of  civilisation?  The  American  journalist 
is  ubiquitous  in  every  city  of  Europe,  like  the  Ameri- 
can artist  for  the  matter  of  that." 

"Do  you  know  many  American  artists?"  she 
went  on. 

Gilbert  laughed. 

"  He  is  the  special  patron  saint  of  artists.  You 
should  see  the  pretty  little  articles  he  has  written 

247 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

about  their  various  colonies  such  as  Grez,  Concar- 
neau,  Newlyn,  Broadway.  They  make  him  touching 
offerings  of  sketches  to  secure  his  favour." 

"  Don't  play  the  fool,"  Brindle  interrupted;  then 
with  a  mellifluous  change  of  voice  to  Margaret : 

"  Can  I  place  any  of  my  acquired  knowledge  at 
your  service  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  only  going  to  ask  if  you  happened 
to  know  Mrs.  Broderick,  who  is  an  artist?  " 

What  is  it  makes  us  aware  that  we  have  unwit- 
tingly cast  a  bombshell  into  the  conversational  circle, 
even  though  there  is  no  outward  sign  of  the  fact? 
Whatever  it  may  be,  this  knowledge  came  to  Mar- 
garet in  the  pause  that  followed  her  remark. 

Brindle  gave  one  quick  inquiring  glance  at  Gilbert 
and  then  began  to  carefully  sort  out  his  loose  photo- 
graphs. 

Gilbert,  who  was  seated  on  the  stone  steps,  gave 
no  sign  of  having  heard  the  question  save  for  a 
certain  troubled  pallor  that  showed  itself  in  his  face. 

Seeing  that  he  was  not  going  to  take  the  answer 
on  himself,  Brindle  spoke: 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Broderick  dwells  in  more  exalted 
regions  than  the  Bohemian  circles  haunted  by  me. 
I  have  seen  her,  of  course,  and  have  written  about 
her  pictures  and  her  dress,  and  her  parties,  but  I 
have  only  spoken  to  her  once,  I  think.  You  know 
her,  Clinch,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  I  may  say  that  we  are  old 
friends,"  Gilbert  answered,  in  even  tones.  "  And 
you,  Miss  Nugent,  know  her,  I  suppose  ?  "  Their 
eyes  met  and  Margaret  saw  the  hungry  yearning 
that  underlay  his  composed  manner. 

'  Yes,  I  knew  her  years  ago  in  France,  at  the 
248 


THE   GORGON'S    HEAD 

seaside  when  I  was  a  schoolgirl  and  before  she  was 
married.  I  adored  her  then,  as  little  girls  do  adore 
such  women,  and  I  was  overjoyed  when  she  turned 
up  in  our  neighbourhood  at  home  last  autumn." 

"In  your  neighbourhood  —  that  means?" 

"  On  the  Thames,  near  Maidenhead.  She  took 
a  house  and  settled  down  to  paint  there." 

"  And  she  lives  there  still?  "  and  now  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  eager  light  in  Gilbert's  eyes. 

"  She  did  when  I  last  heard,  and  I  think  I  should 
have  had  a  wail  from  my  brother  Jack  if  she  had 
left,  or  else  have  heard  of  him  on  his  travels.  He 
promptly  fell  down  and  worshipped  at  her  shrine, 
did  that  young  man.  And  she  is  a  great  friend  of 
yours,  Mr.  Clinch  ? "  she  asked,  with  suspicious 
innocence. 

"  We  have  known  each  other  for  a  long  time," 
he  said,  quietly.  "  But  after  —  when  she  was  first 
in  mourning,  she  had  a  fancy  to  leave  home  without 
letting  her  friends  know  her  whereabouts.  I  am 
glad  to  hear  about  her  again.  Did  she  —  does  she 
seem  strong  and  well  ?  "  he  asked,  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  she  gives  one  the  idea  of  perfect  health. 
I'm  sure  she  couldn't  toil  at  her  painting  as  she  does 
if  she  weren't  strong,"  she  said,  lightly.  "  But  I 
have  some  little  odds  and  ends  of  scribbles  of  hers 
that  I  stole  in  her  studio  the  other  day,  in  my 
writing-case  over  there.  Would  you  care  to  see 
them?" 

Would  he  care  to  see  the  sunshine  and  breathe 
the  fresh  air?  Gilbert  was  never  quite  sure  what 
he  had  said,  or  if  he  had  said  anything,  when  he 
held  a  sheet  or  two  of  drawing-paper  in  his  hand, 
all  scribbled  over  in  the  dear  familiar  fashion. 

249 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  I  saved  that  one  because  it  had  such  a  good 
thing  of  Jack  on  it,"  he  heard  the  girl  say,  and  his 
jealous  eyes  sought  the  sketch. 

Yes,  there  it  was,  only  a  few  pencil  outlines,  but 
giving  such  a  vivid  suggestion  of  a  stalwart  young 
fellow  in  riding-dress  holding  up  a  biscuit  to  a  beg- 
ging Irish  terrier. 

"  And  it's  so  good  of  Mr.  Tomkins,  too,"  Meg 
went  on,  with  a  little  nervous  haste,  as  Brindle 
noticed.  "  I  think  I  must  have  it  framed." 

Gilbert  was  looking  closely  into  the  medley  that 
covered  the  paper  like  written  thoughts.  Ah !  here 
was  something  to  show  that  her  mind  had  not  for- 
saken the  past !  Flight  of  butterflies  hovering  over 
a  row  of  poppies.  He  well  knew  what  that  meant. 

"  You  say  that  Mrs.  Broderick  was  painting  regu- 
larly," he  said,  looking  up  abruptly  at  Margaret. 

There  was  something  almost  like  a  flash  of  anger 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  answered : 

"  Yes,  she  worked  steadily  for  most  of  the  day, 
though  she  never  would  show  us  what  she  was 
doing." 

Ah,  she  had  kept  those  new  friends  out  of  her 
real,  her  inner  brain-life  then!  The  comfort  that 
he  drew  from  this  thought  was  shattered  by  Mar- 
garet's next  speech. 

"  She  dined  with  us  on  Christmas  night,  looking 
oh,  just  splendid  in  the  country-dance!  And  we 
had  some  jolly  days  skating  on  the  meadows  before 
I  left.  Jack  is  something  a  bit  out  of  the  common 
on  skates,  and  they  looked  so  well  together." 

"  Look  out,  Clinch,  those  photos  will  be  scattered 
to  the  four  winds.  Give  them  to  me  and  I'll  put 


250 


THE    GORGON'S    HEAD 

them  in  their  case,"  Brindle  said,  with  a  great  ap- 
pearance of  concern. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you're  growing  as  fussy  as 
an  old  woman,"  Gilbert  said,  rising  to  hand  him  the 
photos.  "  And  now  don't  you  think  you've  been 
hung  out  to  air  long  enough,  and  had  better  be 
conveyed  to  your  own  quarters  ?  "  Brindle  was 
beginning  a  protest  when  a  look  at  Gilbert's  face 
stopped  him. 

"  Perhaps  it's  best  not  to  overdo  it,"  he  said, 
meekly,  and  heroically  rejecting  offers  of  beef-tea 
or  wine,  allowed  Gilbert  to  get  him  into  his  chair 
and  to  start  Felice  on  the  road. 

There  were  few  words  between  them  until  Brindle 
had  been  got  to  his  room  and  settled  down  and 
fed.  Then  Gilbert  said  : 

"  Somehow,  the  spirit  of  unrest  is  on  me  to-day. 
If  you  don't  mind,  I'll  start  out  into  the  country 
and  have  a  bite  at  any  trattoria  I  come  across." 

"  Off  you  go ;  you  do  look  bilious,  now  that  I 
come  to  think  of  it.  Just  shove  the  writing  things 
up  to  me  before  you  go,  and  I'll  try  to  finish  that 
boy's  story.  Must  keep  the  pot  boiling,  you  know," 
Brindle  answered,  cheerfully. 

But  when  Gilbert  was  gone,  the  boy's  story  re- 
mained untouched,  and  the  invalid  sat  glooming  at  a 
highly  coloured  picture  of  Victor  Emanuele  at  the 
battle  of  San  Martino  on  the  opposite  wall,  as  though 
he  owed  it  a  mortal  grudge. 

"  Her  kindness  to  me  is  all  done  for  his  benefit." 
he  said  to  himself,  as  though  summing  up  the  mat- 
ter, "  while  he  is  thinking  of  nothing  save  that 
wandering  '  Lady  of  Sorrows '  of  his.  I  wonder 
if  she  saw  that  he  had  pocketed  that  smaller  sheet 

251 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

of  paper.  Well  it's  the  unpleasant  way  of  the  world, 
but  Brindle,  my  good  fellow,  you  can  play  the  man 
even  without  the  use  of  your  legs,  I  suppose,  and 
what  you  have  to  do  is  to  get  that  use  back  again 
as  quickly  as  possible.  And  meantime  get  this  story 
finished  up  with  ten  followers  of  the  Mahdi  killed, 
and  the  two  English  boys  rescued  —  so  here  goes." 

Meantime  Gilbert  had  taken  a  steam-tram  out  into 
the  country,  and  when  it  stopped  had  wandered  up 
hillside  paths  among  the  olive  groves,  where  here 
and  there  an  almond-tree  was  outlined  in  pink 
blossom. 

He  had  the  uncomfortably  stripped  feeling  of  one 
whose  dream-life  is  suddenly  overthrown  by  a  rude 
touch  of  reality.  Day  by  day,  Isabel  Broderick  in 
her  lonely  life  of  work  and  sorrow  had  been  near 
to  him;  now  a  curious  new  sense  of  isolation  came 
with  this  different  picture  of  her.  Isabel  dancing, 
skating,  amusing  herself  with  strangers,  how  hard 
it  seemed  to  imagine.  Had  she  learnt  to  depend 
on  this  young  fellow  as  once  she  had  depended  upon 
him? 

He  paused  in  his  stride,  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought.  He  had  been  content  to  stay  away  from 
her,  to  let  their  lives  run  in  different  grooves,  because 
he  had  felt  it  necessary  for  her  peace  of  mind,  guess- 
ing that  she  had  morbidly  blamed  herself  for  some 
of  those  summer  hours  by  the  La  Have,  but  now,  if 
she  could  give  to  another  that  close  companionship 
that  had  been  at  once  his  joy  and  his  temptation, 
did  not  the  fact  free  him  from  the  obligation  of  his 
self-imposed  exile? 

Was  he  not  now  free  to  go  and  at  least  enjoy  her 
comradeship  again?  It  would  not  content  him,  he 

252 


THE    GORGON'S    HEAD 

knew,  he  had  got  too  far  for  that,  and  he  knew 
too  that  he  should  suffer  the  torments  of  jealousy, 
but  in  his  present  mood  any  active  unhappiness 
seemed  better  than  the  cold  neutrality  of  separation. 

In  this  new  sense  of  loss,  all  ambition  fell  away 
from  him.  What  would  be  the  use  of  his  fighting 
for  money  he  did  not  need,  when  it  was  not  to  be 
shared  with  her? 

His  life  would  henceforth  be  one  of  work,  but 
first,  as  soon  as  he  could  leave  Brindle,  he  would 
find  his  way  to  that  English  village  where  she  had 
hidden  herself,  and  would  see  her  face  again.  That 
was  all  at  present,  just  to  hear  her  voice,  look  into 
those  steadfast  eyes  again. 

Sitting  at  a  table  at  a  wayside  inn,  after  a  meal 
of  macaroni  and  Barola  wine,  he  scanned  every  line 
in  that  sheet  of  drawing-paper,  finding  a  certain  con- 
solation in  a  vague  outline  of  a  net-laden  fishing- 
dory,  such  as  they  used  to  see  on  the  La  Have. 


253 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

A    DINNER  -  PARTY 

WHEN  the  two  young  men  had  left  the  villa, 
Margaret  had  given  them  a  general  invita- 
tion to  return  again,  and  on  two  more 
mornings  they  had  come,  and  finding  her  on  the 
terrace  had  spent  an  hour  or  so  in  idle  talk. 

On  the  last  of  these,  Margaret  had  seemed  in  high 
spirits,  which  she  explained  by  saying: 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  treat  to-day,  a  long,  vaga- 
bondising afternoon's  ride.  Lord  Vernade,  a 
neighbour  of  ours  at  home,  has  brought  his  horses 
on  from  Rome,  where  he  has  been  hunting  this 
winter,  and  when  he  comes  I  always  get  about  the 
country  a  lot.  It  is  such  a  change  from  driving  with 
Granny.  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Clinch,  he  met  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  at  our  house  on  Christmas  night,  and  admired 
her  very  much,"  and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  smile 
which  somehow  seemed  to-day  harder  and  more 
brilliant. 

Gilbert  immediately  of  course  included  Lord 
Vernade  in  the  hatred  which  he  felt  for  the  unknown 
Jack. 

"  I  am  sure  he  would,"  he  said,  evenly,  and  again 
Brindle  interposed  another  topic. 

254 


A    DINNER-PARTY 

'  There's  a  cold  north  wind.  I  think  you  had 
better  stay  in  to-day,"  Gilbert  said  one  morning, 
when  they  had  planned  to  go  to  the  villa.  But 
Brindle  was  so  persistent  that  Gilbert  yielded  — 
after  all,  his  friend  was  so  much  better  that  it  could 
hardly  hurt  him.  There  was  no  broad-brimmed 
hat  to  be  seen  on  the  terrace,  and  presently  the 
Italian  butler  brought  out  a  little  three-cornered 
note  addressed  to  Gilbert. 

"  We  are  going  for  an  early  ride,  and  if  I  am 
not  back  by  the  time  you  come,  please  give  me  a 
little  grace  and  wait  for  me,  making  yourselves  quite 
at  home." 

"  Mademoiselle  has  found  more  amusing  com- 
pany," he  said,  grimly,  as  he  passed  the  note  to  his 
friend. 

"  And  the  fine  weather  is  over,"  the  other  said, 
somewhat  inconsequently.  "  See  how  the  laurels 
are  twisting  in  the  wind.  Those  who  can  ride  and 
warm  their  blood  have  the  best  of  it  to-day.  A 
bath-chair  is  not  an  exhilarating  steed."  There  was 
a  dreariness  under  the  whimsicality  of  his  voice, 
and  again  Gilbert  urged  the  prudence  of  a  retreat, 
but  Brindle  put  him  off,  until  presently,  with  a  little 
shudder,  he  said : 

"  I  feel  as  though  the  eye  of  the  unseen  Gorgon 
were  piercing  my  back  from  some  window.  Let's 
get  home." 

The  treacherous  wind  met  them  in  the  sunless 
street,  and  before  night  Brindle  was  in  a  high  fever, 
and  for  the  next  few  days  all  Gilbert's  energies  were 
thrown  into  the  old  grim  fight. 

"  He'll  never  have  the  strength  to  pull  through," 
he  said,  on  the  second  day.  to  the  Florentine  doctor, 

255 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

but  that  optimistic  person  answered  with  his  usual 
undaunted  self-reliance : 

"  Oh,  we'll  manage  it  somehow  or  other." 

There  were  times  when  the  patient's  tongue  was 
loosened  by  fever,  and  then  he  would  ask: 

"  Has  she  written  to  know  where  we  are?  "  and 
one  night  he  kept  calling  out  that  she  was  riding, 
riding  away  from  him  and  that  he  was  left  alone  in 
the  desert  to  die,  and  again  there  were  rambling 
words,  of  Persephone  being  carried  off  to  the  realms 
of  shadows,  which  Gilbert  could  easily  interpret. 

These  worst  days  were  fought  down,  and  now 
there  was  nothing  but  the  extreme  weakness  to  be 
conquered.  "Nothing!"  Gilbert  said,  bitterly,  as 
his  cheerful  colleague  announced  this  opinion. 

Frail  indeed  looked  the  boyish  head  against  the 
pillows,  all  life  seeming  concentrated  in  the  big  eyes. 

"Any  news  of  Persephone?"  he  asked,  with  a 
feeble  jauntiness  that  was  widely  different  from  the 
pathos  of  delirium. 

"  There's  a  precious  effusion  that  has  just  come," 
Gilbert,  said,  tossing  a  note  down  on  the  bed.  He 
chose  somewhat  unreasonably  to  consider  Miss 
Nugent  to  blame.  The  note  was  from  her,  saying 
that  she  supposed  the  stormy  weather  was  the  cause 
of  their  absence  from  the  garden,  and  giving  a 
message  from  Madame  de  Barre  to  ask  Gilbert  to 
dine  with  them  a  few  days  later. 

"  I  am  going  to  send  Felice  with  a  refusal  when 
he  comes  to  do  the  errands,"  Gilbert  said,  but 
straightway  his  patient  waxed  excitable,  insisting 
that  he  would  not  have  his  friend  stay  at  home  for 
him,  that  he  must  think  him  about  to  die  or  he  would 


256 


A   DINNER-PARTY 

accept  the  chance  of  bringing  him  news  of  the  out- 
side world.  He  must  be  soothed  down  at  any  cost. 

"  All  right,  my  dear  fellow,  I'll  go.  Yes,  you'll 
be  quite  fit  by  then  to  leave  with  the  sister.  She 
can't  snore  your  head  off  in  that  time.  See,  I've 
written  to  accept.  Will  that  content  you?  Now 
shut  up  and  go  to  sleep." 

And  Gilbert  himself  felt  rather  relieved  at  being 
forced  into  a  meeting  that  might  bring  him  some 
further  tidings  of  Isabel. 

That  afternoon  he  took  his  usual  constitutional 
through  the  Cascine,  where  he  met  Mrs.  Sinnet's 
carriage.  She  stopped  to  speak  to  him,  asking  after 
the  invalid  and  condoling  with  him  on  their  bad 
luck. 

"  You  look  somewhat  ghastly  yourself,"  she  com- 
mented. "  I  met  Miss  Nugent  yesterday,  and  she 
was  asking  what  had  become  of  you." 

"  I  believe  the  whole  thing  was  her  fault,"  Gilbert 
grumbled ;  "  if  she  hadn't  turned  his  head,  he  would 
never  have  bothered  me  into  letting  him  sit  out 
that  cold  morning,  and  then  my  lady  went  off  amus- 
ing herself  elsewhere." 

"  With  Lord  Vernade?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  declare  it  is  incomprehensible  to  me  —  "  Mrs. 
Sinnet  was  beginning,  with  energy,  when  she 
checked  herself,  saying,  "  There  they  are  now." 

Down  a  cross  avenue  ahead,  clearly  seen  through 
the  young  leaf-tips,  came  a  couple,  riding.  The 
animation  in  Margaret's  face  and  voice,  the  beauty 
of  the  horses,  the  air  of  quiet  distinction  about  the 
slim,  pale  man  who  bent  toward  her  with  such  an 
evident  absorption,  all  made  them  a  noticeable  sight. 

257 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

They  passed  without  even  looking  round,  and 
Gilbert  commented : 

"  So  that's  Lord  Vernade,  is  it?  But  I  beg  your 
pardon,  you  were  saying?" 

"  I  was  merely  going  to  say  that  I  don't  see  how 
any  decent  people  can  let  a  girl  go  about  with  such 
a  man.  Of  course,  I  suppose  the  excuse  that  is 
made  for  him  is  that  his  wife  is  worse  than  he  is, 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  Miss  Nugent  should  be 
seen  with  him.  He's  rather  a  favourite  in  society, 
I  believe,  but  I  can't  bear  him.  I  happened  to  know 
a  pretty  little  fool  of  a  woman  from  home  who  was 
bitten  with  a  society  craze,  and  left  her  husband 
toiling  out  there  in  his  office.  We  both  came  over 
in  the  same  steamer  with  Lord  Vernade  and  —  well, 
in  a  month  or  two  she  went  off  with  him  in  his  yacht. 
He  left  her  alone  and  friendless  in  Naples,  and  her 
poor  husband  had  her  found  and  taken  home  to  her 
mother.  And  lots  of  people  know  that  story,"  she 
ended,  darkly. 

"  Pretty  bad !  "  Gilbert  commented.  "  I  suppose 
he  will  be  at  the  dinner  on  Thursday  ?  " 

"  Sure  to!  You're  going,  are  you?  Well,  I'll  see 
you  there,  then.  Au  revoir! " 

It  was  into  a  pretty  interior  of  shaded  lights, 
masses  of  flowers,  and  deep-tinted  brocades  that 
Gilbert  was  shown  on  Thursday  evening.  His  host- 
ess, in  purple  velvet  and  amethysts,  looked  more 
like  an  old  begum  than  ever.  She  sat  in  her  usual 
armchair  by  the  fire,  and  the  new  arrivals  went  up 
to  and  made  their  greeting  to  her.  There  was  Lady 
Vernade,  short  and  somewhat  stout,  a  triumph  of 
art  in  her  masses  of  golden  hair,  her  blackened  eyes, 
her  red  lips,  her  marvellous  Parisian  gown.  Beside 

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A   DINNER-PARTY 

her  Margaret,  in  white  satin,  looked  like  a  school- 
girl. 

There  were  an  old  English  general  and  his  wife, 
with  a  painfully  overgrown  daughter,  the  Sinnets, 
a  swarthy,  twinkling  little  Irish  priest,  and  a  big 
cavalry  officer  in  the  beautiful  blue  and  silver  uni- 
form, whom  Gilbert  had  no  difficulty  in  identifying 
as  the  Conte  di  Ripamonti,  and  lastly,  lazily  observ- 
ant, there  was  Lord  Vernade. 

"  What  mischief  can  Miss  Nugent  be  up  to,  to 
look  so  demure?  "  Mrs.  Sinnet  said  to  Gilbert.  "  It 
can't  be  much,  as  I  am  to  take  her  in,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  I  trust  that  you  are  content  with  your 
fate?  "  the  girl  said  to  him,  as  they  settled  in  their 
places. 

"  I  am  more.     I  am  immensely  flattered." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  think  that  you  were  my  choice. 
I  never  have  any  voice  in  the  matter.  It  was 
Granny's  mandate." 

"  Well,  then,  I  may  repeat  your  own  remark  and 
hope  that  you  are  content." 

"  I'll  decide  that  after  I  see  how  you  treat  me. 
But  tell  me,  how  is  Mr.  Brindle?" 

"  He  has  been  at  death's  door  since  I  saw  you 
last,"  was  his  sombre  answer. 

A  beautiful  light  of  pity  softened  her  face. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know.  I  never  guessed  from  your 
note  that  it  had  been  as  bad  as  that.  Tell  me  how  it 
all  happened  ?  " 

In  spite  of  her  appealing  eyes,  Gilbert  was  pitiless. 

"  It  all  happened  because  a  certain  young  fool, 
having  had  his  head  turned  by  a  lovely  siren,  would 
go  out  in  a  cold  wind,  and  when  he  was  disappointed 


259 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

in  finding  her,  would  wait  on  in  the  hopes  that  she 
might  come  —  that's  how  it  all  happened." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  turned  his  head  to 
see  the  dark  velvety  eyes  brimming  with  tears. 

The  sight  checked  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  have  been  too  bold,"  he  said. 

The  tears  were  brushed  away  with  feminine  skill. 

"  You  have  been  too  hard,  I  think,"  she  said, 
somewhat  proudly.  "  If  I  tried  to  be  kind  to  your 
friend  it  was  merely  because  I  was  sorry  for  him. 
How  could  I  have  any  idea  that  he  would  make  more 
of  it?" 

"  You  are  right.  How  could  you  ?  But  you  see 
I  am  rather  a  bull  in  the  social  china-shop.  You 
must  forgive  my  awkwardness." 

"  You  said  what  you  thought,  but  I  would  like 
you  to  think  better  of  me.  Won't  you  promise  to 
try  to  believe  that  I  meant  no  harm?  " 

Gilbert  was  conquered  by  the  frankness  of  her 
words. 

"  What  is  more,  I  will  believe  it  on  the  spot," 
he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  You  must  forgive 
me,  for  too  much  sickroom  has  made  me  grumpy, 
though  I  trust  that  we  are  over  the  worst  now. 
But  tell  me  about  yourself.  You  have  been  riding 
a  good  deal,  haven't  you  ?  I  saw  you  one  day  in  the 
Cascine." 

"  Did  you  ?  Yes,  it  is  a  bit  of  a  holiday  for  me 
when  Lord  Vernade  comes,  and  the  fun  of  it  is  that 
these  rides  of  ours  have  quite  upset  the  Ripamonti 
faction.  My  matrimonial  prospects  are  down  to 
zero,"  and  she  laughed  as  though  she  found  the 
fact  an  exhilarating  one. 

"Against   Italian   etiquette,   I   suppose?     But   I 

260 


A   DINNER-PARTY 

wonder  that,  in  that  case,  your  grandmother  has 
not  put  her  foot  down." 

"  No,  the  queer  thing  is,"  and  here  she  lowered 
her  voice,  "  that  Granny  seems  rather  off  the  idea. 
Now  a  month  ago,  if  he  hadn't  taken  me  in  to 
dinner,  he  would  have  been  phced  well  in  view  of 
my  charms,  whereas  now  I  have  to  strain  my  neck 
around  the  corner  to  see  him  flirting  with  Lady 
Vernade.  He  is  evidently  delighted  with  her." 

"  He  must  be  fond  of  art,  then,"  Gilbert  said, 
dryly.  "  But  he's  a  big,  handsome  fellow." 

"  He's  just  my  idea  of  a  Roman  gladiator,"  she 
said,  and  Gilbert  looked  down  the  table  to  note  the 
appositeness  of  the  comparison.  Here  Lady  Ogilvie, 
the  English  general's  wife,  turned  to  him,  saying: 

"  I  believe  that  you  are  an  American  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  I  must  plead  guilty,"  he  answered, 
with  a  smile  that  puzzled  that  lady.  She  did  not 
know  that  her  tone  had  been  that  of  one  graciously 
condoning  an  error. 

"  I  have  passed  several  years  in  the  West  Indies 
when  my  husband  was  a  colonel,"  she  announced, 
"  and  I  must  say  that  I  grew  very  fond  of  the  life." 

"  Some  day  I  mean  to  go  all  around  the  West 
Indies.  Granny  —  "  Margaret  began,  in  a  slightly 
raised  voice. 

Gilbert  saw  the  bent  head  of  the  hostess  turn 
with  a  bright  glance  from  under  the  heavy  eyelids, 
and  the  sign  for  the  ladies  to  leave  the  table  was 
given. 

He  had  noticed  once  or  twice  through  the  even- 
ing that  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  little  Irish  priest  sitting 
opposite  had  seemed  to  be  studying  him,  and  now 
the  latter  lost  no  time  in  beginning  a  conversation, 

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BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Starting  with  a  casual  remark  on  the  beauties 
of  Florence,  Gilbert  found  himself  being  led  on 
to  tell  of  his  friend's  illness,  the  delay  in  their  de- 
parture, and  his  earlier  studies  in  Vienna. 

"  It  is  some  time  then  since  you  left  America  ?  " 
Father  Kehoe  asked. 

"  Only  last  August,  although  it  seems  much 
longer,"  he  answered,  half  to  himself. 

"  And  your  summers  are  so  hot  that  I  suppose 
you  had  not  been  in  Boston  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  workers  have  to  stand  the  heat  as  best 
we  can.  But  as  it  happens  I  spent  the  early  summer 
on  the  Nova  Scotian  coast  in  charge  of  a  patient. 
I  am  an  alienist,  you  know,"  Gilbert  found  himself 
saying. 

"  Ah,  a  sad  and  yet  an  interesting  work.  And 
your  patient  recovered  ?  " 

"  No,  I  regret  to  say  that  I  was  obliged  to  get 
him  back  to  an  asylum.  It  was  an  unusually  sad 
case."  His  desire  to  close  the  subject  was  evi- 
dent, and  his  questioner  acknowledged  it. 

"  And  perhaps  I  have  disturbed  you  bv  leading  you 
to  speak  of  it.  Pardon  me.  And  now,  gentlemen, 
I  am  charged  by  our  hostess  to  shepherd  you  into 
the  drawing-room." 

Gilbert  had  a  certainty  that  the  reverend  father 
had  been  pumping  him,  though  he  could  not  imagine 
why.  But  it  did  not  seem  to  matter  at  all.  Old 
women  of  both  sexes  are  often  inquisitive  with 
strangers. 


262 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE    BORDERLAND 

AFTER  dinner  Gilbert  was  standing  talking 
to  Mrs.  Sinnet  when  Margaret  crossed  the 
room  toward  him,  followed  by  Lord  Ver- 
nade. 

"  Lord  Vernade  would  like  to  know  you,  Mr. 
Clinch/'  she  said. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  man's  quiet  smile  was 
attractive  when  he  chose  it  to  be  so. 

"  Miss  Nugent  tells  me  that  you  come  from  across 
the  water,"  he  began.  "  I  was  A.  D.  C.  in  Ottawa 
in  my  young  days,  and  used  often  to  run  down  to 
Washington  to  see  a  cousin  there,  so  I  know  a 
little  more  of  the  country  than  most  Englishmen 
do.  But  what  I  like  best  are  the  Rockies,  where 
I've  been  once  or  twice  shooting." 

"  I  have  never  been  farther  west  than  Michigan," 
Gilbert  answered,  in  a  non-committal  fashion,  unwill- 
ing to  establish  any  bond  of  interest  by  acknowledg- 
ing himself  to  be  a  Canadian. 

"  Miss  Nugent  tells  me  that  you  are  a  friend  of 
Mrs.  Broderick's,"  Lord  Vernade  began  again. 
"  Charming  woman.  Can't  understand  her  staying 
in  that  damp  hole  all  winter.  She  is  rich,  isn't 
she?" 

263 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Gilbert  flushed  angrily  at  the  careless  question. 

"  I  believe  that  she  is  comfortably  off,"  he  an- 
swered, stiffly. 

"  She  looks  it,"  turning  to  the  girl,  "  I  must  get 
Lady  Vernade  to  call  and  persuade  her  to  give  us  a 
week's  end  in  the  spring.  Such  a  dark  horse  would 
create  a  sensation  amongst  a  party  from  town,  eh?  " 

Margaret  laughed,  and  Gilbert  caught  a  mocking 
gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  will  be  stirring  up  Jack's  evil  passions,"  she 
said. 

"  Master  Jack  must  be  content  with  his  share," 
was  the  retort,  and  Gilbert  turned  away  to  stand  for 
a  moment  contemplating  the  party  with  profound 
disgust.  A  stir  of  departure  relieved  him,  but  as  he 
said  his  good-night,  he  was  detained  by  his  hostess. 

'  Your  patient's  relapse  will  detain  you  longer  in 
Florence,  I  hear,"  she  said,  fixing  her  beady  eyes 
on  him. 

"  Not  much  longer,  I  hope,"  he  answered,  with 
sudden  resolution.  "  If  he  goes  on  improving  I 
shall  leave  him  with  a  nurse  under  Doctor  Balder's 
charge. 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head  and  scowled. 

"  You  ought  to  stay  here  and  enjoy  the  spring- 
time. I  will  get  you  invitations  to  the  after-Easter 
balls  if  you  like." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said,  making  his  escape, 
bewildered  by  this  uncalled-for  amiability. 

"  Queer  enough  people !  "  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  emerged  into  the  soft  starlit  night  to  walk  home. 
Yes,  he  was  determined,  he  would  see  Isabel  Broder- 
ick  before  any  of  those  other  people  got  back  to  form 
a  circle  around  her. 

264 


THE    BORDERLAND 

Two  or  three  days  later,  while  these  plans  were 
still  unspoken,  he  returned  from  a  walk  to  find 
Brindle  looking  unusually  excited. 

He  hardly  waited  for  Gilbert  to  close  the  door 
before  beginning. 

"  Balder  has  been  here  and  I've  stolen  a  march 
on  you.  He  says  that  considering  the  lateness  of  the 
season,  and  the  creditable  fashion  in  which  I've 
pulled  up,  he  sees  no  risk  in  taking  the  journey 
through  to  Paris.  A  night  train,  a  Pullman,  and 
no  stoppages,  he  recommends.  What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"  I  say  that  you  are  both  crazy,"  was  the  answer, 
but  after  more  or  less  of  discussion  and  a  little  delay, 
the  plan  was  carried  through,  and  Gilbert  felt  a 
weight  off  his  mind  when  he  saw  his  friend  safely 
settled  in  quiet  sunny  rooms  overlooking  the  Luxem- 
bourg gardens.  When  he  had  gone  to  leave  a  fare- 
well card  at  the  Villa  della  Biscia  he  had  not  been 
admitted,  and  Brindle  had  shown  no  desire  for  any 
further  communication. 

And  so  the  episode  seemed  closed. 

Just  before  leaving  Florence  Gilbert  had  had  a 
letter  from  the  London  solicitor  promising  to  pro- 
cure him  information  as  to  his  uncle's  family  and 
fashion  of  life,  but  warning  him  that  any  contest 
over  the  estate  might  entail  a  costly  expenditure. 
"  A  will  signed  during  the  last  days  of  illness,  un- 
known to  nearest  relatives,  might  be  open  to  a 
strong  suspicion  of  undue  influence,"  he  said,  going 
on  to  advise  the  establishment  of  friendly  relations 
with  his  kinsfolk. 

"  There's  a  sample  of  English  caution  for  you." 
Brindle  said,  contemptuously,  after  reading  the 

265 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

letter ;  "  take  my  advice  and  have  nothing  to  do 
with  any  Englishman  in  the  matter.  Whatever 
you  do,  do  it  from  your  own  side  of  the  water." 

"  I  don't  feel  much  like  doing  anything  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  That's  the  trouble,"  Brindle  grumbled,  taking 
care,  however,  to  make  no  sign  as  to  what  subject 
he  supposed  to  be  monopolising  his  friend's  mind. 

Paris  was  full  of  friends  and  comrades  of  both 
men,  and  as  they  flocked  to  Brindle's  room,  smoking 
and  exchanging  yarns  until  Gilbert  turned  them 
out,  Brindle  ungratefully  said  : 

"  Florentine  sunshine  is  all  very  well,  but  this 
is  living  instead  of  vegetating.  The  very  air  of 
Paris  stirs  up  one's  brains  like  an  egg-beater." 

"  Rather  disastrous  to  the  gray  matter,  I  should 
think,"  Gilbert  commented. 

It  was  the  season  when,  from  all  over  France, 
from  seacoast  and  woodland  villages  where  they 
have  been  toiling  at  their  pictures,  the  artists  flock 
to  Paris  to  receive  their  meed  of  success  or  failure 
from  their  peers,  for  France  is  of  all  countries  in 
the  world  that  in  which  an  intellectual  effort  is 
most  judged  by  the  inner  circles  of  its  craft.  Many 
of  these  men  were  Americans,  and  Gilbert  and 
Brindle  were  welcomed  in  studios  up  on  the  Clichy 
heights,  or  in  their  own  Luxembourg  quarter.  And 
amid  all  the  talk  Gilbert  kept  careful  watch  for  the 
sound  of  one  name,  for  any  hint  of  one  presence  in 
the  swarming  city.  Of  course  there  were  many 
hours  spent  in  the  salons,  in  an  inspection  of  pictures 
that  did  not  overtask  Brindle's  strength,  and  in  long 
talks  over  "  bocks  "  and  cigarettes  in  the  restaurant. 

One   of   these   days,    Gilbert,    having   deposited 

266 


THE    BORDERLAND 

Brindle  in  a  comfortable  seat,  went  for  a  later  tour 
of  the  rooms  with  a  quiet  Boston  artist,  a  man  to 
whom  success  had  come  after  his  whole  nature  had 
been  hopelessly  depressed  by  long  striving. 

"  I  suppose  you've  seen  one  of  our  American  suc- 
cesses, '  The  Borderland  '  ?  "  the  artist  asked. 

"  Not  that  I  remember." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  the  other,  and  as  Gilbert  looked 
across  the  room,  he  could  have  sworn  that  he  was 
the  victim  of  an  hallucination,  for  there  on  the  wall, 
its  colours  palpitating  in  the  clear  light,  was  the 
mystic  picture  that  he  had  watched  growing  under 
the  hands  of  a  maniac,  the  picture  that  he  had  seen 
lying  in  shreds  on  the  floor  of  the  country  barn 
studio. 

Some  instinct  of  caution,  following  on  his  first 
amazement,  made  him  check  the  word  of  surprise 
on  his  lips. 

As  he  stood,  staring  in  utter  bewilderment,  he 
heard  his  friend's  voice  going  on : 

"  By  the  bye,  I  think  that  you  knew  him  and  his 
wife  —  Andrew  Broderick,  I  mean.  Sad  story, 
wasn't  it  ?  They  say  he  had  just  finished  it  before 
he  had  to  be  taken  to  the  asylum." 

Still  Gilbert  stared  in  silence. 

"  Come  over  to  it.  I  want  to  look  at  it  close,"  he 
said,  and  crossing  the  room,  he  peered  intently  into 
the  work.  No,  it  was  in  some  places  painted  thinly 
enough  to  show  the  warp  of  the  canvas,  and  there 
was  no  trace  of  any  join  or  repairs.  It  could  not 
by  any  possibility  be  the  same  picture  that  he  had 
seen  stabbed  and  trampled  upon. 

The  name  was  signed  in  small  printed  scarlet 
letters  such  as  he  had  often  noticed  on  some  finished 

267 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

pictures  in  Broderick's  studio,  and  the  date  was  that 
of  the  past  year.  What  did  it  possibly  mean! 

"  Let's  see  your  catalogue,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
other  man,  who  was  watching  him  in  a  somewhat 
perplexed  fashion. 

It  was  apparently  all  simple  enough. 

"  Le  Pays  des  Reves  "  was  the  French  title,  to 
which  the  English  one  of  "  The  Borderland  "  did 
not  literally  correspond.  The  artist's  name  was 
given,  "  Andrew  Broderick,  American,  pupil  of 
Carolus  Duran,"  address  a  well-known  London 
picture-dealer. 

With  a  strong  effort  at  the  commonplace,  Gilbert 
said: 

"  Yes,  I  often  saw  him  working  at  this  picture, 
but  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  quite  finished  it. 
You  have  not  heard,  I  suppose,  of  any  recent  re- 
covery ?  " 

"  No,  and  I  fancy  if  there  had  been  I  should  have 
known  of  it,  for  this  picture  has  been  one  of  the  art 
topics  of  the  day.  But  look  here,  Brindle  will  be 
waiting  in  the  restaurant.  Shall  we  go?" 

"  If  you  will  go  and  help  him  to  a  cab,  I  think 
I'll  stay  here  and  prowl  among  the  pictures  for  a 
bit  longer,"  he  answered,  gladly  hailing  the  chance 
of  solitude. 

When  his  friend  left  him,  Gilbert  seated  himself 
on  a  bench  in  front  of  "  The  Borderland  "  and  gave 
himself  up  to  its  contemplation. 

There  was  all  the  brilliancy  of  technique  and  the 
force  of  the  destroyed  picture,  and  yet  the  longer 
he  looked,  the  more  persuaded  Gilbert  felt  that  it 
was  not  the  work  of  the  same  hand.  Especially  in 
the  figure  in  the  corner  of  the  foreground,  that 

268 


THE    BORDERLAND 

stood  raising  its  veil  with  one  hand,  was  there  a 
mystical  touch  which  had  been  absent  in  the  other. 
And  then  he  recalled  the  history  of  that  figure,  how 
it  had  at  first  formed  no  part  of  Broderick's  composi- 
tion, but  painted  by  Isabel  on  a  smaller  canvas  had 
been  copied  into  his  own  work  by  her  husband. 

Did  it  really  mean  that  Isabel,  a  woman  broken 
down  under  the  shock  of  a  ghastly  tragedy,  had  had 
the  courage  and  power  to  paint  this  virile  master- 
piece? It  seemed  a  hardly  possible  idea,  and  yet  the 
longer  he  thought,  the  more  he  felt  that  it  was  the 
only  explanation. 

Absorbed  in  the  picture  and  the  thoughts  it  caused, 
he  paid  small  attention  to  the  increasing  crowd,  until 
a  familiar  voice  beside  him  broke  in  on  his  reverie. 

"  I  thought  it  was  Gilbert  Clinch  when  I  saw 
what  you  were  studying  so  earnestly."  Turning, 
he  saw  the  grizzled  hair  and  shrewd,  kindly  face 
of  the  Brodericks'  doctor. 

"  What,  are  you  holiday-making  like  all  the 
world  ?  "  he  said,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  Yes,  only  as  you  see,  I  don't  find  it  so  easy 
to  get  away  from  the  affairs  of  my  patients.  A 
sort  of  father  confessor,  a  family  doctor.  But  of 
course  in  this  case  you  are  behind  the  scenes  too?  " 

And  he  directed  his  words  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand  and  a  glance  toward  the  picture. 

Gilbert  had  sometimes  wondered  how  much  those 
shrewd  eyes  had  noted  of  the  intimacy  between 
himself  and  Mrs.  Broderick  on  that  tragical  home- 
coming, and  he  now  walked  warily. 

"  If  you  mean  the  Brodericks'  affairs,  I  have 
heard  nothing  about  them  since  I  left  home  last 
August,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  have  been  grinding 

269 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

in  Vienna  all  winter,  you  know,  and  seem  to  have 
got  out  of  touch  with  home  news.  Still,  though  I 
cannot  claim  to  be  behind  the  scenes,  I  will  acknowl- 
edge to  you  that  this  picture  has  filled  me  with 
amazement.  I  saw  its  duplicate  that  Andrew  Bro- 
derick  had  painted,  torn  into  shreds  by  him  in  his 
first  fit  of  violent  mania  —  would  to  God  that  I 
had  taken  the  warning  in  time.  I  know  that  in 
all  probability  he  could  never  have  recovered  suffi- 
ciently to  have  painted  this  one,  and  yet  here  I 
see  it  before  me,  as  splendid  a  piece  of  work  as 
Broderick  could  ever  have  turned  out.  Who 
painted  it?  The  only  possible  answer  seems  to  me 
too  improbable,  and  I  give  it  up." 

Doctor  Slater's  twinkling  eyes  looked  into  his 
with  a  concentrated  extract  of  meaning  in  them. 

"  If  a  theory  is  utterly  and  palpably  improbable, 
then  you  may  be  sure  it  is  the  correct  solution,"  was 
his  oracular  comment. 

"  Then  you  really  think  that  she  painted  it  ?  "  Gil- 
bert said,  as  though  answering  a  spoken  word. 

"  I  don't  think,  I  know  that  she  did ;  though, 
mind  you,  she  has  never  said  so  to  me  in  words,  and 
I  would  let  no  one  save  you  know  it.  I  never  dreamt 
of  your  not  guessing  it  at  once." 

"  I  did  guess  it,  though  not  at  once.  But  it 
seemed  too  wonderful." 

"  You  may  well  say  that.  The  strain  upon  her 
nerves  for  weeks  must  have  been  something  like 
sitting  day  by  day  painting  her  dead.  And  yet 
to-day  she  is  a  stronger  and  more  serene  woman  for 
having  done  it.  The  work  has  somehow  satisfied  a 
need  of  her  conscience  or  heart." 

Gilbert  left  the  last  sentence  unheeded. 

270 


THE    BORDERLAND 

"To-day?"  he  stammered.  "  You  don't  mean — " 
and  paused. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  she  is  in  Paris?"  The 
quiet  words  steadied  him.  For  her  sake  he  must 
not  reveal  the  tumult  of  his  spirit,  even  to  this  old 
seer  of  household  tragedies. 

"  I  only  came  from  Florence  a  day  or  two  ago, 
you  know,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  will  give  me  her 
address  I  should  like  to  go  and  see  her." 

"  You'd  like  to  ?  Poor  wretch !  You  won't  know 
one  happy  moment  until  you  do,"  the  old  doctor 
commented  inwardly.  His  spoken  words  were  more 
commonplace : 

"  The  Stacys  have  lent  her  their  house,  '  Passage 
Lamartine.  Rue  de  la  Pompe,  Passy ; '  you  will  find 
her  there  most  evenings,  I  fancy." 

"  Thanks.  And  Broderick  —  what  news  have  you 
of  him?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  He  is  —  as  you  predicted  —  a  gloomy  and 
dangerous  maniac,  encircled  with  as  many  precau- 
tions as  any  poor  wretch  in  the  place.  In  his  worst 
moments  he  thinks  he  is  kept  down  in  hell-fire  by 
demons  with  whom  he  struggles  while  his  strength 
lasts,  and  then  sinks  back  into  coma." 

"  The  same  leading  idea.  That's  what  comes 
from  an  ancestry  of  Calvinist  divines,"  Gilbert  com- 
mented; then,  hesitating  a  moment,  asked: 

"Does  Howard  think  him  likely  to  live?" 

The  doctor's  eyes  were  intent  on  a  strikingly 
dressed  Parisienne  as  he  answered : 

"  I  asked  him  that  just  before  I  sailed,  in  case 
she  —  And  it's  the  same  old  thing :  no  reason  he 
shouldn't  live  as  long  as  any  of  us.  But  really, 

S71 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

that's  more  in  your  line  than  mine.  Well,  I  must 
be  off.  See  you  to-night  at  the  minister's,  perhaps." 
"  Perhaps,"  Gilbert  answered,  and  the  doctor  first 
chuckled  to  himself  and  then  sighed  as  he  walked 
away. 


272 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  OUR    HANDS    HAVE    MET  " 

THE  broad,  quiet  Passy  street  in  the  yellow 
evening  light,  a  passage  where  a  row  of 
bright  little  houses  looked  across  at  the 
blossoming  fruit-trees  in  a  convent  garden,  an  up- 
stairs drawing-room,  and  a  gray  figure  rising  from 
a  seat  by  the  window,  while  a  voice  that  set  Gilbert's 
heart  leaping  madly,  said : 

"  It  is  you,  then  ?  " 

All  he  could  think  of  to  say  as  he  held  her  hand 
was: 

"  You  got  my  '  petit  bleu  '?  "  The  low  laugh  he 
had  loved  to  hear,  greeted  this. 

"  Naturally,  as  I  answered  it.  But  come,  sit  down 
by  the  window  and  talk." 

"  But  I  can't  see  you  in  this  twilight,"  he  ob- 
jected. 

"  Ah,  surely  you  don't  want  to  shut  out  the  even- 
ing! You  shall  have  lights  by  and  by."  But  all  the 
same  she  moved  her  chair  enough  for  the  yellow 
glow  to  fall  on  the  dear  familiar  face,  showing 
Gilbert  that  the  old  shadow  of  suppressed  dread  was 
gone  from  her  eyes,  which,  though  sad,  were  serene. 

"  You  have  done  your  hair  differently,"  he  criti- 

273 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

cised.  Truly  this  was  hardly  the  manner  of  a  hope- 
less lover  or  a  dignified  professional  man. 

"  That  might  be  expected  in  all  but  a  year's  time. 
But  surely  you  have  something  more  interesting  to 
say  than  that?  "  she  smiled  back. 

"  Forgive  me.  I  am  bewildered  by  all  that  I  would 
say."  Then  in  a  graver  note,  "  I  was  at  the  Salon 
to-day,  and  saw  the  '  Pay  des  Reves.'  I  like  that 
name  better  than  '  The  Borderland.' ' 

"  So  do  I.  And  you  understood  ?  You  did  not 
blame  me  for  the  deception  ?  "  Her  voice  was  low 
and  troubled. 

"  Blame  you !  I  thought  it  the  most  magnificent 
feat  woman  ever  accomplished.  I  thought  I  under- 
stood that  it  was  done  as  the  last  of  all  the  help  you 
had  given  him,  the  help  to  complete  his  career." 

"  You  always  understand  what  I  mean,"  she  said, 
restfully. 

Conquering  his  great  desire  to  take  her  in  his 
arms,  he  went  on  : 

"  And  it  did  not  injure  your  health  ?  You  had 
no  one  to  care  for  that  while  you  were  going  through 
such  an  ordeal  ?  " 

"  I  think  being  alone  made  me  stronger,  and  if 
I  were  tired  it  was  only  with  the  healthy  tiredness 
of  work  done.  There  was  the  satisfaction  of  being 
able  to  do  it,  you  know,"  she  said,  simply. 

"  Yes,  I  can  understand  that.  I  have  so  hungered 
to  know  how  it  was  faring  with  you,  and  never  until 
a  few  weeks  ago  in  Florence  have  I  heard  even  your 
name." 

"  You  heard  of  me?  I  thought  no  one  knew?  " 
she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  And  that  was  from  strangers  whom  you  had 

274 


"OUR     HANDS     HAVE     MET' 

not  kept  at  a  distance  as  you  did  your  friends.  It 
was  Miss  Nugent  who  told  me  of  your  English  home 
and  the  life  you  led  there." 

Isabel  leaned  forward  in  her  deep  chair. 

"  Do  you  mean  Margaret  Nugent,  who  lives  in 
Florence  with  her  grandmother?  "  she  asked. 

"  Madame  de  Barre?    Yes,  I  dined  with  them." 

"And  you  don't  know  who  they  are?"  It  was 
Gilbert's  turn  to  be  surprised  now. 

"  I  know  that  the  grandmother  is  an  old  hag  who 
is  trying  to  marry  the  girl  to  a  big  ox-like  Italian 
officer,  and  that  the  girl  would  have  a  fine  nature 
if  it  got  a  chance.  She  seems  devoted  to  you." 

He  could  not  see  how  pale  the  calm  face  had 
grown  as  she  went  on : 

"  And  you  don't  know  that  that  girl  is  your 
cousin,  Margaret  Nugent-Barr,  and  the  old  woman 
is  the  West  Indian  wife  whom  old  Isaac  used  to  talk 
about. 

Gilbert  sat  for  a  moment  assimilating  this  fact. 

"  Good  heavens !  what  a  fool  I  was  not  to  take 
it  in  sooner.  And  I  had  a  letter  yesterday  from  my 
uncle,  Mr.  Nugent-Barr  of  Monk's  Grange,  and  even 
then  I  never  saw  it.  But  —  why  do  they  have 
all  this  fantastic  dividing  up  of  names?"  he  said, 
irritably. 

"  It's  simple  enough,  the  way  Jack  explained  it  to 
me  one  day,"  she  said,  unheeding  the  arrow  she 
planted  in  Gilbert's  breast.  '  They  took  the  mother's 
maiden  name  of  Nugent  to  please  her  father,  as  he 
had  no  sons.  The  German  Bauer  was  softened  down 
into  Barr  when  they  went  to  live  in  England.  Then 
the  old  lady,  reverting  with  her  Continental  life  to 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

her  old  French  ways,  branched  out  into  Madame  de 
Barre  de  Fer-de-Lance." 

"  It's  as  fantastic  as  a  comic  opera,"  Gilbert  in- 
sisted. "  And  why,  if  the  family  is  Nugent-Barr  in 
England,  was  the  girl  called  Miss  Nugent  in  Flor- 
ence?" 

"  Just  accident,  I  think.  She  told  me  that  the 
people  there  never  had  got  into  the  way  of  using  the 
double  name.  Jack  and  she  always  laugh  at  it  a 
bit." 

Again  that  familiar  mention  of  a  stranger. 

"  You  like  this  brother  and  sister,  don't  you?  "  he 
asked,  gloomily. 

"  Yes,  they  went  out  of  the  way  from  the  first 
to  be  kind  to  me,  and  when  I  was  tired  their  coming 
seemed  to  bring  a  breeze  of  young  life  that  blew 
away  the  cobwebs.  I  was  very  solitary  when  they 
found  me  out." 

"  You  need  not  have  been.  It  was  your  own 
choice  that  made  you  dependent  on  the  kindness  of 
strangers,"  he  broke  out,  in  irrepressible  reproach. 

"  Sometimes  strangers  are  the  easiest  to  begin 
again  with,"  she  said,  gently,  "  though  now  they 
are  not  strangers  but  friends." 

"  I  see." 

"  And  you,  you  have  written  to  their  father,  you 
say?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  just  had  a  cordial  enough  an- 
swer, inviting  me  to  come  and  stay  with  them. 
Strange  to  say,  he  makes  no  mention  of  my  meeting 
them  in  Florence,  and  yet  now  that  I  think  of  it 
I'm  sure  the  old  lady  knew  who  I  was,  and  would 
naturally  have  written  to  her  son." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

276 


"OUR     HANDS     HAVE     MET' 

"  Well,  even  her  granddaughter  noticed  the  queer 
sort  of  interest  she  seemed  to  take  in  me,  and  Mrs. 
Sinnet  told  me  that  she  had  been  pumping  her  about 
me.  Yes,  it  all  fits  in.  She  called  me  Mr.  Gilbert 
Clinch  one  day  when  I  couldn't  imagine  how  she 
had  got  hold  of  it.  Then  at  dinner  a  little  priest, 
who  seemed  a  tame  cat  of  the  house,  asked  me  a  lot 
of  questions  —  yes,  and  she  gave  me  the  girl  to 
take  in  — ' 

He  checked  himself,  following  out  the  recollection 
of  how  Margaret  had  said  that  her  grandmother  had 
suddenly  lost  interest  in  the  Ripamonti  match. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  if  the  old  lady  is  up  to  any 
schemes,  her  granddaughter  is  ignorant  of  them,"  he 
said,  decisively. 

"  I  am  sure  that  she  would  always  be  what  is 
honest  and  frank,"  Isabel  agreed,  while  a  little 
quickly  caught  sigh  told  of  the  last  hope  wrecked. 
Yes,  it  would  be  better,  surely  be  better  that  he 
should  marry  his  cousin  and  thus  come  peaceably 
into  his  inheritance,  and  yet  — 

"  And  you  will  go  among  them  and  make  friends 
with  these  new  kinsfolk  of  yours?  "  she  asked,  pres- 
ently. 

"  I  want  to  try  to  make  friends  with  them,  but 
I  don't  feel  as  though  I  should  care  to  stay  in  their 
house.  The  obligations  of  the  salt,  you  know.  If 
afterward  it  should  come  to  a  fight  - 

"  Then  you  have  decided  nothing  as  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  uneasily.  "  I  never  was  supposed 
to  lack  decision  before,  and  yet  somehow  I  feel 
myself  a  weak,  vacillating  creature  in  this.  It  seems 
a  cold-blooded  sort  of  business,  to  attack  what 
people  have  enjoyed  for  fifteen  years  or  so,  when  one 

277 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

doesn't  really  need  the  money,  and  has  no  one  but 
oneself.  You  see  the  sale  of  the  treasure-trove  gave 
me  enough  to  free  me  from  drudgery,  and  for  an 
occasional  holiday.  The  rest  I  can  earn  for  myself. 
Of  course,  I  can't  say  that  this  mood  is  permanent, 
but  then  I  do  feel  that  way  at  present.  Tell  me," 
he  went  on,  leaning  forward  earnestly,  "  it  would 
pain  you  to  see  these  friends  of  yours  losing  some 
of  their  pretty  surroundings,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  should  be  sorry  for  them,  but  still 
that  is  no  reason  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is,"  he  interrupted,  recklessly,  "  if 
you  like,  I  will  make  you  a  promise  now  and  settle 
the  matter  — 

"  No,  no,"  she  checked  him,  "  you  shall  make  no 
such  promise  to  me.  You  may  feel  sometime  that 
it  is  best  to  claim  your  rights.  Leave  the  question 
open." 

"  Well,  remember  that  it  is  your  doing !  "  he  said. 
"  And  now  tell  me,  I  should  like  to  go  and  stay 
somewhere  in  your  neighbourhood  where  I  could  get 
to  know  these  new  relations  and  yet  keep  my  inde- 
pendence. Do  you  know  of  any  country  inn  or  lodg- 
ings near  you,  where  Brindle  and  I  could  put  up? 
He  needs  some  quiet  country  life  before  he  goes 
back  to  work  again.  The  plan  is  of  course  subject  to 
your  approval.  We  shouldn't  bother  you,  should 
we?" 

Unheeding  the  wistfulness  in  his  words,  she  felt 
rather  hurt  at  their  doubt,  but  only  said,  quietly : 

"That's  hardly  likely,  is  it?  Yes,  I  think  it  is 
a  very  good  plan,  and  I  know  just  the  place  for  you. 
A  little  cottage  quite  near  my  house,  with  a  nice 
old  woman  used  to  boating  men  and  artists.  She 

278 


"OUR     HANDS     HAVE     MET" 

will  delight  in  feeding  up  your  friend,  and  the  air 
is  high  and  pure." 

As  she  spoke,  she  was  seeing  quick  mind-pictures 
of  long  summer  twilights  together  again,  and  then 
the  pictures  broke  away  like  a  shattered  mirror  be- 
fore the  thought  of  Margaret's  young  smile.  It 
would  be  best  for  him. 

"  I'm  sending  a  note  home  to-night,  and  if  you 
like,  I'll  tell  them  to  engage  the  rooms  for  you," 
she  added. 

"  Thank  you  so  much.  In  ten  days  we  should  be 
there.  And  you?  You  will  be  at  home  by  then?  " 

"  Oh,  I  go  back  at  the  end  of  the  week,  and  shall 
be  waiting  to  greet  you." 

"  No  greeting  could  be  as  good  as  that,"  he  said, 
forgetting  his  role  of  resignation. 

There  was  a  silence  save  for  the  distant  street 
noises,  and  dreamy  waltz  music  from  a  neighbouring 
window. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  go  and  see  if  Brindle's 
all  right,"  Gilbert  said,  unwillingly.  "  But  mightn't 
we  have  a  gleam  of  light  before  I  go  ?  "  he  urged. 

"  How  pertinacious  you  are !  "  and  she  reached 
out  her  hand  to  touch  the  button  that  flooded  the 
room  with  a  soft  glow. 

They  had  both  risen,  and  as  Gilbert  stood  looking 
into  her  face  he  almost  thought  that  he  saw  a  blush 
pass  over  it. 

He  could  not  help  it,  he  must  strike  a  more 
personal  note  before  he  left  her. 

"  You  do  not  mind  my  coming?  You  are  glad 
that  we  have  met?  "  he  said,  impulsively. 

A  mist  of  tears  came  over  her  eyes  as  she  said : 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  but  be  glad  to  see  the  truest. 

279 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

best  friend  woman  ever  had?  You  must  always, 
whatever  happens,  be  sure  of  that." 

The  "  whatever  happens "  struck  cold  on  his 
heart.  Did  it  mean  that  even  if  in  a  happier  future 
she  were  to  marry  Jack  she  would  always  be  his 
friend?  With  a  husky  "  God  bless  you  "  he  left  her, 
to  walk  for  more  than  an  hour  the  Paris  streets. 

Twice  again  they  met  before  Isabel  left  Paris,  once 
at  a  crowded  reception  at  the  American  minister's, 
when  it  was  a  case  of  — 

"  Maud  in  all  her  splendour." 

It  was  years  since  he  had  seen  her  thus,  in  the 
glow  of  white  satin  and  pearls,  observed  among 
groups  of  fashionable  women  and  well-known  men, 
and,  save  for  the  half-hour  she  kept  for  him,  he  was 
content  to  stand  and  watch  her  as  a  beautiful  appari- 
tion. 

Their  second  meeting  was  an  afternoon  which  they 
spent  together  among  the  young  greenery  of  the 
St.  Cloud  woods,  with  the  garlic  blossoms  shining 
white  on  the  ground,  and  the  mysterious  call  of  the 
cuckoo  echoing  from  the  forest  depths. 

By  mutual  consent  they  avoided  all  topics  that 
might  be  painful,  Gilbert  telling  her  of  his  studies  in 
Vienna,  while  she  spoke  of  her  long  effort  of  work, 
of  having  brought  the  picture  to  Paris  in  March, 
and  of  its  immediate  success. 

"  And  now  that  the  habit  of  steady  work  has  taken 
hold  of  me,  I  could  never  be  an  idler  again.  I  have 
a  dozen  projects  ahead,  for  when  I  get  home." 

"  Ah,  but  you  must  spare  me  some  lazy  hours," 
he  urged. 

They  were  standing  at  her  door  to  say  good  night. 

280 


"OUR     HANDS     HAVE     MET' 

"  As  many  as  you  will  want,  I  expect,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  wistful  smile,  and  before  he  could 
quite  understand  what  she  meant,  she  added : 

"  Good-bye  now,  or  rather  au  revoir  until  the 
fifteenth." 

He  watched  her  into  the  house  and  up  the  stairs 
before  he  turned  away,  a  passion  of  useless  longing 
at  his  heart.  Oh,  if  only  she  were  free  he  would 
not  let  this  Jack,  or  any  other  man,  take  her  from 
him  without  a  struggle. 


281 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

HEATHHOLM 

MRS.  BRODERICK  was  at  home  at  Heath- 
holm  again,  enjoying  the  blossoming  time 
of  her  little  kingdom,  trying  to  keep  down 
troublesome  thoughts  by  a  system  of  steady  work. 

The  sight  of  the  Paris  Salon,  the  art  talk  in  the 
air,  had  stirred  her  creative  faculties,  and  the  very 
day  after  her  arrival  she  began  to  paint.  Every 
morning  she  drove  down  to  a  certain  reed-fringed 
meadow,  where,  on  the  river-bank,  she  posed  a  fa- 
vourite, flaxen-haired,  lanky,  sixteen-year-old  model. 
In  a  loose  dress  of  blue-gray  muslin,  with  bare  feet 
overhanging  the  water,  a  long  green  reed  in  her 
hand,  the  girl,  in  the  bucolic  calm  of  her  stupidity, 
gave  a  fair  enough  idea  of  the  mystic  stream-maiden, 
Undine.  Stupidity  often  looks  as  though  it  were 
evolving  the  soul  it  does  not  possess. 

She  usually  took  her  lunch  with  her,  returning 
in  time  to  dress  before  tea.  It  was  a  perfect  after- 
noon, and  she  had  had  tea  taken  out  under  the  shade 
of  a  walnut-tree  in  the  garden,  where  she  could 
sit  in  a  deep  hammock-chair  and  look  down  at  the 
sea  of  white  cherry  and  plum  blossoms  on  the  hill- 
side below. 

"  Only  two  more  days  to  the  fifteenth,  and  how 

282 


HEATHHOLM 

Gilbert  will  enjoy  it  all,"  she  thought  to  herself, 
the  air  sleepy  with  the  droning  of  a  big  bee. 

The  stillness  was  broken  by  the  sounds  of  wheels, 
the  yapping  of  a  terrier,  the  click  of  the  gate,  and 
the  sound  of  footsteps. 

Lazily  raising  her  head,  she  saw  the  very  smart 
apparition  of  Margaret,  dressed  in  the  latest  Parisian 
arrangement  of  pale  green  and  black,  and  waving 
a  red  sunshade  toward  her,  as  she  called  out: 

"  Here  is  your  own  bad  penny  back  again,  you 
see!  Don't  look  so  amazed.  Didn't  you  know  I 
was  coming?  " 

"  Now,  how  could  I  ?  I  went  to  call  on  your 
mother  the  other  day,  but  she  — 

"  Had  neuralgia,  of  course,"  put  in  Meg. 

"  But  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and  how  smart  you 
are!" 

"  I  thought  I'd  give  you  a  treat  before  I  fell 
back  on  shirts  and  tweed  skirts  again.  You  your- 
self aren't  amiss,"  with  an  appreciative  glance  at 
Isabel's  white  serge.  "  And  then  it  seems  I'm  not 
likely  to  get  much  chance  of  wearing  my  smart  town 
clothes  this  year.  Granny  is  laid  up  with  gout  at 
Aix  with  no  chance,  the  doctor  says,  of  getting 
away  for  two  months  or  so,  and  my  father  says 
he  won't  foot  the  bills,  so  farewell  to  my  London 
season." 

"  Are  you  disappointed  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  fancy  dropping  out  of 
the  swim,  you  know.  The  waters  so  soon  close  over 
one's  head.  For  the  matter  of  that,  I  suppose  I 
come  in  for  odds  and  ends  with  various  people.  But 
it  all  seems  queer,  somehow.  Granny  was  in  such 
a  desperate  hurry  to  get  to  England  a  month  earlier 

283 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

than  usual,  and  then,  when  she  got  laid  up,  she  was 
in  a  great  stew;  nothing  would  content  her  but 
packing  me  off  home  with  a  maid,  and,  now  that 
I  am  here,  they  want  me  to  do  nothing  but  poke 
about  at  home,  instead  of  every  one  making  a  fuss 
about  my  prospects  for  the  season.  I  don't  under- 
stand it,  and  I  hate  things  I  don't  understand,"  she 
ended. 

Isabel  was  used  to  soothing  the  girl's  little 
humours. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  simple  enough.  They  would 
probably  rather  not  have  you  go  out  with  strangers, 
and  think  that  you  have  had  a  good  deal  of  variety," 
she  said. 

"  My  father  ought  to  take  a  town-house  like  other 
people.  I  tell  you  what,"  with  sudden  vehemence, 
"  I  believe  it's  this  friend  of  yours,  the  new-found 
cousin,  that  has  upset  them  so." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  met,  both  eager  to 
read  the  other's  thoughts,  while  defending  their 
own.  Isabel  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  What  fantastic  ideas  you  do  get !  Why  should 
poor  Mr.  Clinch  upset  any  one?"  she  said,  as 
lightly  as  possible. 

"  That's  just  the  question.  It  struck  me  that 
'  poor  Mr.  Clinch  '  was  very  well  able  to  take  care 
of  himself.  He  snubbed  me  dreadfully  in  Florence. 
But,  tell  me,  he's  a  great  friend  of  yours,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Never  woman  had  a  better  one,"  Isabel  an- 
swered, out  of  the  loyalty  of  her  heart. 

"  And  were  you  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was 
our  cousin?  "  came  the  question. 

"  Not  altogether.  Something  your  brother  said 
after  you  left  me  made  me  think  it  possible." 

284 


HEATHHOLM 

"  I  wonder  you  didn't  tell  him  then." 

Isabel  had  a  queer  feeling  of  being  on  her  trial, 
and  laughed  it  off  with : 

"  What  a  cross-examiner  you  would  make.  I 
thought  it  best  not  to  interfere  in  Mr.  Clinch's 
affairs.  And  now  tell  me  about  your  Florence  win- 
ter. You're  not  engaged  to  that  Italian  marquis 
yet?" 

Margaret  laughed  gleefully. 

"  No,  and  Granny  had  such  a  lovely  spider-web 
of  plans  for  an  alliance  with  the  Ripamonti  —  old 
Piedmontese  nobility  with  actually  pots  of  money 
behind  them.  The  man  himself  looked  like  a  prize- 
fighter, but  that  didn't  seem  to  count.  Granny  and 
Mamma  Ripamonti  had  their  heads  together  for 
weeks,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  the  whole  thing 
dropped.  I  never  found  out  the  reason,  whether  they 
were  shocked  at  my  riding  all  about  the  country 
with  Lord  Vernade,  or  whether  —  "  She  hesitated 
a  moment.  "  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  the 
cousin  upset  that,  too,"  she  ended,  flushing  vividly. 

Isabel  did  her  best  to  hide  that  she  was  startled, 
as  she  asked : 

"  How  could  that  be,  if  neither  he  nor  you  knew  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  since  that  Granny  knew,  she 
was  so  queer.  Still,"  looking  half -defiantly  at  her 
friend,  "  she  could  hardly  want  me  to  marry  an 
American  doctor."  For  an  instant  their  eyes  met, 
and  Isabel,  feeling  the  stab  of  jealousy,  had  guessed 
the  girl's  secret.  Yes,  it  was  all  working  out  toward 
the  suitable  ending,  and  who  was  she  to  wish  it 
otherwise  ? 

Paling  a  little,  she  said,  with  a  smile: 

"  Thank  you.   You  see  we,  who  know  no  better, 

188 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

are  apt  to  consider  an  American  doctor  good  enough 
for  most  people." 

"  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Granny's  ideas 
of  a  grand  match,  and  all  that.  And  how  soon  is 
the  cousin  to  appear,  do  you  know  ? "  and  again 
Isabel  felt  that  new  hostile  element  in  her  glance. 

"  He  asked  me  to  engage  his  rooms  for  the  fif- 
teenth," she  said. 

"  Oh,  and  Jack  will  be  here  at  the  end  of  the 
week,  so  it  will  be  a  gathering  of  the  clans.  He 
told  me  to  be  sure  to  get  you  to  come  up  to  Hurley 
on  Sunday.  We  shall  have  the  cousin  and  his  friend, 
I  suppose,  and  Tommy  Curtis  is  with  us,  had  down 
for  Jack's  benefit,  so  that  makes  six.  You  remember 
the  little  wretch  on  Christmas  night?  And,  by  the 
bye,  I  promised  to  get  back  early  for  a  game  of 
tennis,  so  farewell,"  and  the  young  woman  was  off, 
leaving  Isabel  much  to  think  about. 

"  There  is  nothing  left  to  me  save  my  dignity. 
Whatever  comes,  I  must  not  lose  that,"  she  mur- 
mured to  herself,  presently. 

The  first  chill  of  the  evening  dew  seemed  in  the 
air,  and,  rising  with  a  shiver,  she  went  into  the 
studio,  where  she  stood  long  in  contemplation  of 
her  day's  work. 

"  I  could  not  have  done  it  a  year  ago,  and  surely 
that  is  something,"  she  thought. 

It  seemed  as  though  she  had  need  to  call  in  all 
her  forces  for  the  fight. 

"  The  bovine  calm  of  the  English  meadows  is 
already  stealing  over  my  spirit.  I  feel  as  though, 
a  little  more  of  it,  and  I  would  stand  and  chew  the 
cud  like  those  big  red-brown  beasts,"  Brindle  said, 


2S6 


HEATHHOLM 

as  the  Great  Western  train  took  the  two  friends 
through  the  quiet  riverside  country. 

"  Well,  a  little  more  stolidity  would  do  your  char- 
acter no  harm,"  Gilbert  retorted.  "  And  look  here, 
I  hope  you  won't  make  a  fool  of  yourself  over 
that  young  woman  any  more." 

There  was  a  touch  of  real  anxiety  in  his  voice 
which  Brindle  took  very  lightly. 

"  Persephone  ?  No,  she  may  go  to  —  Hades  for 
me.  Not  that  I  sha'n't  flirt  with  her  if  I  get  the 
chance  —  I  always  do  that  on  principle  —  but  surely 
I  know  my  duty  better  to  the  jeune  premiere  when 
the  jeune  premiere  is  round.  I  should  expect  to  die 
in  the  second  act  if  I  didn't." 

"  I  wish  you'd  get  over  that  silly  habit  of  talking 
as  though  all  the  world  were  a  stage  —  " 

"  Well,  we  have  the  immortal  bard's  authority 
for  it,  anyway.  But  to  revert  to  that  little  tem- 
porary weakness  of  mine  for  Persephone  —  can't 
you  see  that  it  was  a  phase  of  the  illness,  like  the 
eruption  in  the  measles  ?  " 

"  Well,  have  it  so,  then,"  Gilbert  answered,  half- 
convinced. 

The  next  two  days  were  momentous  ones  in  his 
life.  Every  place  and  action  were  of  interest;  the 
drive  up  steep  hillsides  to  the  cottage  among  the 
fruit-trees;  the  kind  old  landlady's  voluble  account 
of  how  "  the  lady  "  had  said  that  the  gentlemen 
must  have  this  or  that ;  that  evening's  sight  of  Isabel 
in  the  harmonious  setting  of  her  own  home,  recalling 
his  first  visit  to  her  in  Boston ;  the  next  day's  walk 
through  the  woods  and  across  the  meadows  and 
park  to  the  dark  walls  of  Monk's  Grange, 

"  that  slurred  the  sunshine  half  a  mile." 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  I  felt  like  a  small  boy  had  up  for  apple  stealing," 
he  said,  later,  when  over  a  pipe  he  told  the  tale  of 
the  day  to  Brindle.  "  The  whole  place  was  as  severe 
as  a  prison.  The  butler  took  me  into  custody  and 
handed  me  over  to  his  master  in  a  mouldy-aired 
study.  The  man  did  his  best  to  greet  me  properly, 
but  there  wasn't  an  ounce  of  warmth  in  him  —  a 
shrivelled,  neutral-tinted,  peevish,  fishy  sort  of  a 
man  —  " 

"  Save  a  few  epithets,  anyway." 

"  He  evidently  knew  very  little  about  my  mother, 
or  his  father's  earlier  days ;  said  Madame  de  Barre 
would  remember  this  or  that,  and  it  was  a  pity  she 
was  not  here.  He  had  heard  of  our  having  met  in 
Florence.  All  through  I  had  an  impression  that  he 
was  somehow  afraid  of  committing  himself,  and  was 
acting  under  orders.  I  suspect  that  the  old  Gorgon 
is  really  the  ruling  spirit  all  round.  After  he  had 
done  the  civil  for  a  bit,  he  made  a  move  to  take  me 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  there  was  the  mother, 
an  amiable  nonentity  huddled  in  a  shawl,  and  your 
Persephone  with  the  air  of  a  convent  schoolgirl. 
Every  now  and  then  she  made  polite  little  remarks, 
when  I  felt  as  though  she  were  making  fun  of  me. 
She  thawed,  though,  when  just  before  lunch  the 
brother  came  in.  Jove,  that's  a  fine  young  fellow! 
The  best  type  of  the  man  who  hasn't  had  a  struggle 
for  existence.  It  makes  one  think  what  our  own 
lives  might  have  been  without  the  early  grimness." 

"  Haven't  I  thought,  when  I've  seen  the  manliness 
of  those  gilded  youths  up  the  Nile !  I  used  to  console 
myself  by  thinking  we  mightn't  have  had  so  much 
grit  but  for  the  struggle.  Well,  how  did  he  treat 
you?" 

288 


HEATHHOLM 

"  Frankly  and  honestly,  with  an  open  curiosity 
that  had  nothing  offensive  in  it.  I  felt  at  once  the 
blood  tie  with  him." 

"  And  not  with  Persephone?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  perhaps  after  a  bit,  when  we  were 
sitting  outside,  just  the  brother  and  sister  and  I. 
They  are  very  jolly  together,  the  two." 

"  Better  not  feel  that  blood  tie  too  strongly.  It 
might  stand  in  your  way  if  you  decided  to  make  a 
fight  of  it,  and  then  if  you  did  the  other  thing, 
it  might  stand  in  your  way  even  more." 

"  I  wish  something  stood  in  the  way  of  your 
being  an  ass." 

"  Such  criticism  is  always  the  fate  of  the  Greek 
chorus,  I  fancy.  And  now,"  as  Gilbert  rose,  "  I 
suppose  you  are  off  to  report  at  Heathholm  ?  " 

"  Yes,  will  you  come?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  with  commendable  dulness.  "  I 
shall  toil  at  my  sanguinary  yarns.  There  seems  a 
good  demand  for  them  just  now." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  "  -  lingering,  —  "  they  want  us  to 
spend  Sunday  on  the  river  with  them.  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  will  be  going.  I  shall  get  a  canoe  to-morrow." 

"  All  right,  my  son."  Then,  as  Gilbert  left  the 
room: 

"  The  plot  thickens !  " 


289 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  A    DAY    IN    JUNE  " 

WHEN  six  people,  three  couples,  are  to  spend 
a  day  in  boats  or  carriages,  it  is  evident 
that  not  every  one  can  attain  to  their  ideal 
position. 

Perhaps  on  this  perfect  Sunday  morning  when 
they  all  started  for  Hurley,  the  brother  and  sister 
had,  as  old  inhabitants  and  organisers  of  the  feast, 
the  best  chance  of  carrying  out  their  wishes. 

Certainly  Jack  in  his  double-scull  skiff  looked  very 
handsome  and  happy,  rowing  stroke  with  Mrs. 
Broderick  steering  opposite  him.  while  Miss  Tommy 
Curtis  plied  the  bow  oar,  with  Brindle  behind  her. 

"  An  invalided  man  has  no  place  in  the  scheme 
of  creation,"  the  latter  said,  gloomily,  as  he  watched 
the  rhythm  of  her  arms,  but  he  soon  cheered  up 
under  her  bubbling  stream  of  chatter. 

Gilbert  had  at  first  nourished  hopes  of  getting 
Isabel  to  himself  in  the  canoe,  but  those  hopes  with- 
ered when,  on  paddling  up  to  the  Monk's  Grange 
landing,  he  found  her  already  installed  in  Jack's 
boat,  while  that  youth  hailed  him  with  a  cheerful 
demand  that  he  should  deposit  Brindle  in  the  bow 
of  the  skiff  and  take  Margaret  in  the  canoe.  The 
latter  settled  down  on  the  cushions,  a  mass  of 

290 


"A    DAY    IN   JUNE" 

flowered  muslins,  tilting  a  lace  parasol  between  her 
and  the  sun. 

Gilbert  chuckled  grimly. 

"  Look  at  Br indie's  wistful  face.  I  wish  I  could 
have  taken  him  in  here." 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't  do  that.  Tommy  must  have 
somebody  to  talk  to,  and  Jack  wouldn't  hear  a  word 
she  said,  now,"  was  her  comment. 

Well,  if  his  cousin  chose  to  scorch  his  wings  in  an 
unattainable  flame  it  was  no  business  of  his,  Gilbert 
thought  to  himself,  while  Margaret  went  on : 

"  Now  you  look  your  natural  self  again.  I  don't 
know  which  had  the  most  priggish  and  uncomfort- 
able air  the  other  day,  you  or  my  father." 

"  I  seemed  to  have  that  effect  upon  you  all,"  he 
said,  somewhat  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  no,  please  don't  think  us  horrid.  Jack  took 
a  great  fancy  to  you,  and  said  no  end  of  nice  things 
about  you  that  night  at  dinner,"  she  urged. 

"  And  did  you  play  the  part  of  devil's  advocate?  " 
he  asked,  more  amiably. 

"  Not  if  it  is  anything  that  isn't  pleasant.  Really, 
you  understand  that  Jack  and  I  want  to  be  friends 
with  you,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks,  I  do  feel  sure  of  that.  Then  your 
father  didn't  fancy  me  much?" 

"  I  think  it  was  the  story  of  the  jewelled  image 
that  upset  him,"  she  answered,  frankly;  then  with 
childish  glee,  "  And,  oh,  won't  it  set  Granny 
frantic?" 

"  Are  they  so  fond  of  money  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  most  people  are.  I  am,  I  know. 
Not  to  save  up,  but  to  spend  on  all  the  pretty  things 
I  see.  Oh,  dear,  I  hope  Granny  will  soon  come  back 

291 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

and  pay  my  bills.  My  father  would  have  a  fit  if 
he  saw  them,  but  Granny  never  minds." 

Gilbert  was  silent,  meditating  on  this  novel  view 
of  the  girl's  character. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  do  you  see  that  big  house 
above  the  weir  ?  That's  Lord  Vernade's.  They  have 
a  lot  of  people  down  for  Sunday  and  sent  over  this 
morning  to  get  me  to  go  up  to  Henley  in  the  launch, 
but  of  course  I  wouldn't  leave  our  cosy  little  party," 
with  an  upward  glance  from  under  the  parasol. 

"  That's  very  amiable  of  you.  I  hope  you  don't 
repent." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  would  have  been  fun,  but  then 
somehow  Jack's  not  overfond  of  the  Vernades  — 
thinks  them  a  bit  rapid,  you  know,"  mischievously. 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  was  his  energetic  answer.  "  If 
you  were  my  sister  I  should  have  very  strong  opin- 
ions on  the  subject." 

A  soft  little  laugh  greeted  this  statement. 

"  But  then  I'm  not  your  sister,  you  see,"  she  said, 
and  something  in  eyes  and  voice  rather  dazzled  him. 

"  How  quietly  and  quickly  you  paddle,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause.  "  You  don't  look  like  the  other  people 
here  do.  You  kneel  upright  and  hardly  raise  your 
paddle.  Is  that  the  American  way?  " 

"  It  is  the  way  I  learnt  from  Indians  on  the  St. 
Lawrence.  I  certainly  never  saw  them  lie  back 
against  cushions  and  wave  their  paddles,  like  a 
spoon  helping  porridge.  I  suppose  that's  the  Eng- 
lish way." 

"  Don't  be  supercilious !  How  could  we  be  ex- 
pected to  paddle  like  Indians !  "  she  retorted. 

"  No,  the  English  mind  is  hardly  imaginative 
enough  to  grasp  the  fact  that  if  the  Indian  evolved 

292 


"A    DAY    IN   JUNE" 

the  canoe,  he  is  most  likely  to  understand  the  best 
way  of  getting  it  along." 

"  Do  leave  us  poor  English  alone!  "  she  pleaded. 

"  '  Us  '  poor  English  ?  I  thought  you  were  a 
Canadian !  " 

"  An  English  Canadian,  the  same  as  you  are  an 
American  Canadian.  Betwixt  us  two  there  is  a 
great  gulf  fixed." 

Gilbert  was  silent,  realising  how  much  more  of 
a  gulf  there  was  between  them  than  she  guessed 
—  the  blood  of  the  Martinique  brown  woman,  and 
all  that  it  implied. 

"You  didn't  mind  my  saying  that?"  came  a 
timid  voice.  "  You  look  so  grave." 

"  You  set  me  thinking  on  some  pet  theories  of 
mine  on  race  and  nationality,  that  was  all.  And  here 
is  the  lock  and  there  is  your  brother  shouting  to  us 
to  hurry  in." 

As  the  canoe  glided  in  under  the  shadow  of  the 
masonry,  Gilbert  brought  it  close  to  Mrs.  Broderick's 
side. 

"  How  do  you  like  canoeing  on  the  Thames?  Is 
it  as  good  as  the  little  Adirondack  lake?  "  she  asked, 
smiling. 

"  Not  as  good  as  that,'1  he  answered,  in  a  low 
voice,  in  which  sounded  a  deep  regret  for  those  lost 
days  of  youth. 

Presently  the  two  craft  were  gliding  into  the 
still  green  world  of  Hurley  backwater;  above,  a 
network  of  green  branches  between  them  and  the 
sky;  below  them,  that  network  reflected  in  calm 
water.  In  those  winding  ways  there  were  the 
number  of  boats  usual  to  a  fine  June  Sunday,  but 
once  find  an  unoccupied  flat  meadow  bank  and  one 

293 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

or  two  willow-trees,  and  the  other  boats  and  their 
occupants  matter  nothing. 

The  picnic  was  much  as  other  picnics.  Margaret 
and  her  cousin  Tommy  devoted  themselves  to  piling 
up  cushions  for  Brindle's  benefit,  until  that  youth 
was  overwhelmed  by  mingled  delight  and  disgust. 

"  If  any  one  does  anything  more  for  me,  I  shall 
just  roll  to  the  bank  and  into  the  stream,  which 
will  bear  me  away  like  Ophelia,"  he  threatened. 

"  And  before  it  bears  you  away,  you  are  likely 
to  find  yourself  prodded  all  over  with  boat-hooks. 
A  hero  will  spring  from  the  shadow  of  every  tree 
and  you  will  be  *  butchered  to  make  a  Hurley  holi- 
day,' "  Meg  retorted.  She  had  immediately  joined 
Brindle  and  Miss  Tommy,  leaving  Isabel  to  her  two 
knights  errant. 

Did  Mrs.  Broderick  ever  look  more  lovely  than 
to-day,  the  adoring  Jack  wondered,  in  her  favourite 
white  serge  with  one  knot  of  deep  purple  velvet 
at  her  neck,  and  a  wreath  of  dark  pansies  around 
her  hat.  Jack  had  hardly  as  yet  taken  in  the  full 
extent  of  the  intimacy  between  her  and  Gilbert, 
and  even  if  he  had,  his  innate  sense  of  fair  play 
would  have  kept  him  from  showing  any  jealousy. 

"  Perhaps  you  and  Gilbert  have  had  picnics  to- 
gether before  now  in  America,"  he  said,  as  they  sat 
around  the  white  table-cloth,  over  which  the  slim 
tracery  of  the  willow  leaves  danced  in  light  and 
shade,  Gilbert  on  one  side  of  her,  he  on  the  other. 

Involuntarily  the  man  and  woman  turned  toward 
each  other,  their  meeting  eyes  telling  of  the  same 
memories:  a  dark  pine- fringed  lake  in  the  days  of 
that  long-ago  first  summer;  a  yellow  sand-bar 

394 


"A    DAY    IN   JUNE" 

against  which  the  blue  ocean  crooned,  while  the  child 
played  at  their  feet. 

.Attributing  all  the  pain  in  her  eyes  to  this  last 
fact,  Gilbert  answered,  quickly : 

"  Yes,  we  have  broiled  a  trout  over  the  ashes, 
and  gathered  our  quart  of  blueberries,  in  our  day. 
To  think  of  your  being  Canadians  and  not  having 
known  the  joy  of  picking  blueberries !  " 

"  Ah,  but  we're  going  out  there  some  day  salmon 
fishing,  Jack  and  I,"  put  in  Meg,  who  had  been 
listening.  "  Perhaps,  Gilbert,  you'll  come  and  play 
the  host  to  us  at  that  place  of  yours,  '  The  Moor- 
ings '?" 

If  Margaret's  keen  eyes  saw  Isabel's  nervous  start 
at  the  word  so  long  unheard,  Gilbert  marked  it.  too. 

"  You  must  be  more  enterprising  than  that  and 
have  a  camp  up  one  of  the  rivers,  in  the  woods. 
That  would  teach  you  what  mosquitoes  were  like," 
he  said,  quickly. 

"  Perhaps  we  may  really  do  it,  some  day,"  said 
Jack,  "  though  it  may  be  a  good  while  first  if  I  get 
the  staff  appointment  I  am  trying  for."  The  sim- 
plicity and  downrightness  of  the  young  fellow 
showed  in  every  word,  and  Gilbert  felt  strongly 
drawn  to  him. 

"  Do  you  want  foreign  service?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  one  ought  to  see  something  of  the  world. 
I've  the  best  chance  for  South  Africa,  I  think." 

"  Wouldn't  you  rather  get  to  India  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  there'd  be  big  game  in  South  Africa, 
too." 

There  was  to  be  bigger  game  than  Jack  or  any  one 
else  thought  before  many  months  were  over. 

"  Don't  you  people  want  to  come  over  and  sec 
395 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

the  boats  at  the  lock?"  demanded  Margaret. 
'  There's  a  perfect  stream  of  launches  already,  and 
the  theatrical  people  will  all  be  about  just  now." 

"  You're  an  utter  cockney,  Meg,"  Jack  protested, 
but  still  he  rose  and  offered  a  hand  to  Isabel. 

"  I  had  better  stay  with  Mr.  Brindle,"  she  said, 
hesitating. 

"  I'll  take  care  of  him  and  see  that  he  doesn't  do 
anything  desperate,"  piped  up  Miss  Tommy. 

Jack  looked  at  her  quizzically. 

"  The  tender  merices  of  the  wicked  are  cruel," 
he  said ;  then  in  a  lower  voice  to  Isabel : 

"  Do  come." 

She  yielded  with  less  restraint  in  her  manner.  If 
he  were  going  abroad  so  soon,  a  stern  hand  might 
not  be  needed  after  all. 

The  two  couples,  Gilbert  and  Meg  ahead,  strolled 
across  the  meadow  where  the  strange  effect  might 
be  seen  of  the  upper  parts  of  boats  or  launches  glid- 
ing swiftly  on,  apparently  over  the  grass,  in  reality 
along  the  hidden  canal  that  led  to  the  lock. 

"  You'll  see  a  little  of  everything  here  on  a  June 
Sunday,"  Meg  said,  and  it  was  true  enough.  It  was 
a  side  stream  from  the  great  current  of  London  life 
that  poured  past  that  country  field. 

Electric  launches  crowded  with  overdressed  Bays- 
water  Jews,  or  groups  from  some  of  the  many  for- 
eign colonies  of  London ;  noisy  theatrical  folk  mak- 
ing the  most  of  their  one  holiday ;  boats-full  by  the 
dozen  and  hundred,  of  young  men,  at  their  best  in 
the  equalising  boating  flannels;  habitual  river- folk 
in  punts  or  canoes,  and  occasionally  a  small  smart 
launch  party,  evidently  from  a  country-house. 

Meg  was  at  once  in  her  element,  picking  out  some 

296 


"A   DAY    IN   JUNE" 

notoriety,  a  statesman,  a  peer  or  lady  fresh  from  the 
divorce  court  or  a  card  scandal,  and  commenting  on 
them  with  a  frankness  that  rather  amazed  Gilbert. 

The  lock  had  filled  and  emptied,  and  now  as  the 
down-stream  craft  flocked  in,  the  launches  with  the 
right  of  way  were  led  by  a  perfectly  appointed 
electric  one,  which  held  a  small  party  of  ultra- 
fashionable  people. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  here  are  the  Vernades,  now !  "  Meg 
said,  moving  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  lock,  while 
her  brother  followed  less  eagerly. 

Lord  Vernade,  who  had  been  lounging  in  a  deep 
wicker  chair,  beside  a  much-painted  lady  who  seemed 
to  be  doing  her  best  to  entertain  him,  sprang  up,  and 
before  the  level  of  the  water  had  begun  to  lower, 
jumped  up  beside  them. 

"  I  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  you  all  day,  only 
to  nearly  miss  you  at  last,"  he  said,  taking  Mar- 
garet's hand.  "Why,  this  is  a  regular  gathering; 
the  new  cousin  —  I  congratulate  you  on  it,  Mr. 
Clinch  —  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Mrs.  Broderick 
is  still  a  neighbour,"  with  a  pleasantly  deferential 
bow  to  her.  "  I  mustn't  stay  to  talk,  or  I'll  be 
stranded  high  and  dry,  but  won't  you  all  follow  us 
down  and  have  tea  on  the  lawn  ?  I'm  sure  that  Mrs. 
Broderick  will  forgive  the  informality  of  Lady 
Vernade  not  having  yet  called.  You'll  come,  won't 
you?"  and  his  eyes  dwelt  insistently  on  Margaret, 
who,  flushed  and  smiling,  looked  all  readiness. 

"  I  don't  know,  what  do  you  think,  Jack  ?  "  she 
appealed. 

Jack,  who  had  taken  one  long,  steady  glance  over 
the  smart  people  in  the  launch,  recognising,  although 
he  was  not  as  familiar  with  the  London  world  as  his 

297 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

sister,  a  recent  divorcee  and  another  lady  scarcely 
less  notorious,  answered,  with  quiet  decision: 

"  Thanks,  but  I  think  that  we  had  better  stick 
to  our  plans.  I  promised  Mrs.  Broderick  a  quiet 
day,  and  Clinch  has  an  invalid  in  charge.'' 

The  excuse  was  flimsy,  but  neither  Gilbert  nor 
Isabel,  after  looking  into  Jack's  face,  made  any 
protest  against  standing  in  their  way.  Lord  Ver- 
nade's  face  hardened  somewhat  as  he  turned  to  Mar- 
garet : 

"  Might  I  venture  to  suggest  carrying  you  off 
in  the  launch?  "  he  said. 

It  was  Jack's  voice  answered: 

'  You  wouldn't  want  to  leave  your  guests,  Meg." 

Gilbert,  watching,  saw  that  her  face  had  paled  and 
her  eyes  dilated  curiously,  though  she  answered,  with 
a  laugh : 

"  Oh,  certainly  not.  You  see  I'm  under  orders, 
Lord  Vernade." 

The  launch  was  sinking  with  the  lowering  water 
in  the  lock. 

"  I  must  be  off.  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  letting  him- 
self lightly  down.  He  was  greeted  with  a  remark 
from  one  of  the  women  which  raised  a  general  laugh, 
and  as  Meg  turned  away  from  the  lock  there  was 
a  red  spot  on  each  cheek. 

Gilbert  kept  beside  her  across  the  grass,  with 
much  the  same  feeling  of  indulgent  pity  as  one  has 
for  an  unreasonable  child. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  were  disappointed,"  he  said 
simply. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  weren't.  You  and  Mrs.  Broderick 
think  Jack  is  right  in  not  wanting  me  to  know 
amusing  people.  How  am  I  going  to  be  a  success 

298 


"A   DAY    IN   JUNE" 

if  I  stick  among  the  frumps,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 
she  flashed  out. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said  with  a  laugh  of  frank  amuse- 
ment, which  in  a  moment  she  echoed,  saying : 

"  There,  I  won't  be  cross  any  more." 

After  all  she  was  very  like  a  wilful,  attractive 
child. 

"  Just  look  at  Tommy  and  Mr.  Brindle  gazing 
into  each  other's  eyes,"  Meg  went  on,  as  they  came 
back  to  the  scene  of  their  encampment.  The  shadow 
was  gone,  and  when,  between  the  evening  opales- 
cence  of  sky  and  water,  they  drifted  down  with  the 
current,  Meg  was  at  her  gayest  and  most  seductive, 
so  that  Gilbert  could  not  but  feel  his  heart  warmed 
by  this  new  sense  of  kinship,  a  sense  that  had 
hitherto  been  so  singularly  lacking  in  his  life. 


299 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE     AMERICAN     ARTIST 

IT  was  one  of  the  languorous  afternoons  that 
June  brings  to  the  Thames  valley,  and  Mar- 
garet was  lounging  in  a  deep  chair  under  the 
trees,  well  in  view  of  the  river,  a  becoming  hat 
tilted  over  her  eyes,  a  soft-tinted  pink  cushion  be- 
hind her  head,  a  pile  of  illustrated  papers  her  osten- 
sible study.  Tommy  Curtis  had  betaken  herself  to 
her  favourite  amusement  of  fishing,  and  peace 
reigned. 

At  first  Meg  had  given  her  papers  but  a  small 
share  of  her  attention,  allowing  it  to  stray  after 
each  interesting-looking  craft  that  passed,  or  even 
to  the  vagaries  of  a  swan  family  giving  the  young 
ones  an  airing. 

But  presently,  in  lazily  turning  over  a  page,  she 
spied  something  that  so  interested  her,  that  boats 
and  swans  were  allowed  to  pursue  their  course  un- 
regarded. 

It  was  a  reproduction  of  the  picture  "  The  Bor- 
derland," and  the  name  of  the  artist  caught  her 
eye.  "  Mrs.  Andrew  Broderick  "  was  an  address 
that  she  had  seen  more  than  once  on  papers  or 
parcels  at  Heathholm  —  indeed,  was  it  not  on  her 
friend's  visiting-card? 

300 


THE   AMERICAN   ARTIST 

She  turned  over  to  the  letter-press.  Yes,  here 
was  the  paragraph  headed,  "  An  Artist's  Sad  Story." 

It  told  how  "  The  Borderland,"  one  of  the  most 
successful  American  pictures  of  the  Paris  Salon, 
had  been  painted  last  summer,  just  before  the  artist 
had  become  hopelessly  insane.  It  had  been  brought 
to  Paris  by  his  wife,  also  an  artist,  after  the  unhappy 
man  had  been  confined  to  an  asylum. 

Besides  its  artistic  merit  an  interest  had  been  given 
to  the  picture  for  Parisians,  by  the  fact  of  the  sub- 
ject having  evidently  been  evolved  in  his  troubled 
brain  through  some  remembrance  of  the  illusions 
of  poor  Guy  de  Maupassant's  first  days  of  insanity, 
when  he  was  haunted  by  good  and  evil  spirits  in 
the  form  of  butterflies.  The  paragraph  ended  by 
saying  that  there  was  no  doubt  that,  but  for  the 
artist's  tragic  condition,  this  picture  would  have 
earned  him  a  "  mention,"  or  even  a  second  medal. 

Margaret  turned  the  page  to  gaze  intently  at  the 
weird  composition,  and  only  looked  up  as  Jack 
came  toward  her  in  riding-dress. 

"  Look  here,"  she  began,  almost  before  he  reached 
her.  "  Here's  such  a  queer  thing  —  a  picture  in 
Paris  painted  by  an  Andrew  Broderick  last  summer, 
just  before  he  went  mad.  Now  I've  often  seen  her 
name,  Mrs.  Andrew  — 

"  Let's  look,"  Jack  interrupted,  taking  the  paper 
from  her  hand.  As  he  scanned  it,  his  sister  sat 
staring  up  at  him,  realising  that  nothing  she  might 
say  would  attract  his  attention. 

When  he  raised  his  eyes  from  the  page,  she  saw 
that  his  face  was  verv  set  and  still,  with  a  look  that 
she  had  only  seen  there  once  or  twice  throughout  his 
boyhood. 

301 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  Dare  say  it's  a  brother-in-law  or  cousin,"  was 
his  brief  comment. 

Margaret  checked  the  obvious  retort,  that  brothers 
and  cousins  did  not  generally  possess  the  same 
Christian  name,  but  as  Jack  turned  away,  she  called 
after  him : 

"  Give  me  my  paper." 

"  I  want  it,"  came  back  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  have  some  tea?  " 

"  No." 

Margaret  sat  staring  after  the  retreating  figure. 
"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  she  said  to  herself.  "The 
Lady  of  Shalot  is  a  grass  widow,  and  my  poor 
Jack  — "  and  she  breathed  a  very  genuine  sigh. 
"  And  he  has  gone  to  have  it  out  with  her  now,  too. 
Well,  it  won't  do  him  any  good  for  me  to  sit  here 
and  think  about  it,  so  I  might  as  well  go  for  a 
paddle."  Then  on  a  sudden  came  the  thought  that 
if  Isabel  could  not  marry  Jack,  neither  could  she 
marry  Gilbert,  and  her  heart  leaped  with  a  fierce 

joy- 
Margaret  was  right.    Jack  had  gone  to  have  it  out 
with  her,  riding  up  through  the  beech  woods  with  an 
unfamiliar  look  of  pain  on  his  young  face. 

He  had  not  yet,  however,  quite  accepted  the  fact 
of  Mrs.  Broderick's  having  a  living  husband.  He 
felt  morally  certain  that  she  herself  must  have 
painted  the  picture  which  he  had  seen  unfinished  in 
her  studio,  and  tried  to  convince  himself  that  the 
mystery  in  which  she  had  enwrapped  it  was  merely 
some  artistic  trick  to  secure  its  success. 

Women  certainly  wrote  books  under  the  name 
of  men,  and  might  do  the  same  with  pictures,  for 
all  he  knew  to  the  contrary.  The  weaving  of  these 

302 


THE   AMERICAN   ARTIST 

fine  theories  brought  no  relief  to  the  tension  of  his 
mind,  and  when  he  pulled  up  at  Heathholm  gate,  his 
horse  bore  signs  of  harder  work  than  usual  on  the 
long  up-hill  stretch. 

Yes,  there  she  was  down  the  garden  path,  sitting 
before  her  easel  at  this  unusually  late  hour  of  the 
afternoon.  Jack  was  not  the  one  to  understand  that 
it  was  the  luminous  gray  that  had  tempted  her  into 
making  a  study  of  a  bank  of  azaleas  in  a  blue  twi- 
light caused  by  the  overhanging  trees.  At  sound  of 
his  footsteps,  Isabel  looked  up  with  her  smile  of 
friendly  welcome. 

"  Is  Meg  with  you  ?  "  she  asked,  and  then  paused, 
checked  by  some  unusual  element  in  his  face. 

"  No,  I  came  alone.  I  hope  you  don't  mind  my 
interrupting  your  work,  but  there  is  something  that 
I  must  ask  you." 

"Yes?"  She  had  instinctively  risen,  and  stood 
facing  him,  her  eyes  nearly  on  a  level  with  his  own, 
the  long  folds  of  her  plainly  made  dress  of  light 
gray  giving  her  the  shadowy  air  of  a  mediaeval 
saint  in  a  modern  picture. 

From  his  pocket.  Jack  pulled  the  roughly  folded 
sheets  that  contained  "  The  Borderland  "  and  its 
descriptive  letter-press. 

"  Will  you  look  at  this?  "  he  asked,  quietly, 
fear  that  I  must  disobey  your  wishes  not  to  speak 
of  the  subject,  but  this  is  the  picture  that  I  saw  here, 
in  your  studio,  is  it  not  ?  " 

There  was  the  slightly  startled  air  in  Isabel's 
bearing,  which  is  aroused  in  any  one.  by  an  abrupt 
intrusion  into  their  personal  affairs,  but  that  was  all, 
as  after  glancing  at  the  paper  she  answered,  "  Yes." 


303 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  I  cannot  pretend  not  to  know  that  you  painted 
it." 

At  his  expectant  pause,  she  bowed  her  head  acqui- 
escently. 

"  Then  if  you  are  Andrew  Broderick,  what  does 
this  account  of  the  artist  mean  ?  " 

This  almost  stern  demand  was  met  by  a  silence 
when  her  eyes  met  his  steadily. 

He  answered  the  look  as  though  it  had  been  spoken 
words. 

"  You  mean  have  I  a  right  to  ask  that  ?  You 
know  that  I  have.  I  will  tell  you  presently  what 
that  right  is.  Is  there  really  such  a  man  as  this 
artist  whom  they  call  Andrew  Broderick,  and  if 
so,  what  is  he  to  you  ?  " 

"  My  husband,"  came  the  words,  low  yet  distinct. 

"  Alive?  " 

"  Yes,  or  as  it  says,  in  the  living  death  of  an 
asylum." 

The  quiet  words  struck  home,  and  the  boy's  face 
settled  into  the  lines  of  manhood's  enduring  sorrow. 

"  But  why  should  you  paint  the  picture  in  his 
name?"  he  said,  vaguely,  as  though  his  mind  were 
still  occupied  with  the  details  of  the  story,  while 
the  one  tragic  central  fact  was  not  yet  fully  realised. 

"  He  had  painted  a  great  masterpiece,  and  des- 
troyed it  in  his  frenzy.  With  the  help  of  his 
studies,  I  reproduced  it.  I  could  not  have  done  so 
if  I  had  not  worked  with  him  so  much,  and  seen 
him  paint  it.  He  was  a  great  artist,  and  I  have 
saved  his  name,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  pride. 

"  Good  God,  how  you  must  have  loved  him !  " 
Jack  broke  out,  fiercely. 

The  mask   was   down   from  her   studious   self- 

304 


THE   AMERICAN   ARTIST 

control,  and  with  a  strange  outward  wave  of  her 
hands,  as  though  putting  from  her  a  long-carried 
burden,  Isabel  spoke: 

"Loved  him,  no!  I  doubt  if  I  ever  did  that, 
even  at  the  first !  I  admired  the  artist,  I  was  grate- 
ful to  the  man  for  what  he  gave  me.  Then  all  at 
once  it  changed  to  hate,  such  hate  that  his  name, 
his  money,  were  a  burden  to  me  until  I  had  repaid 
something  of  my  debt  to  him.  It  is  done  now,  for 
it  is  I  who  have  made  his  name  famous." 

"You  hated  him?"  Jack  gasped,  forgetting  his 
own  trouble  in  the  face  of  these  hinted-at  tragic 
forces. 

"  I  hated  him,  yes,  for  what  in  my  darkest  mo- 
ments I  have  felt  to  be  more  my  fault  than  his.  For 
when  his  mind  began  to  be  clouded,  my  one  thought 
was  to  act  as  a  wife  would  have  done  who  had 
married  him  for  love,  not  to  fail  in  one  effort  to 
save  him.  Against  the  doctor's  wishes.  I  took  him 
away  —  Gilbert  Clinch  came  in  charge  of  him  —  to 
that  little  Canadian  fishing-place  you  saw  in  my 
sketch.  I  was  determined  that  he  should  not  lose 
one  day's  sunshine  and  free  air  that  I  could  give 
him;  that  he  should  have  his  liberty  to  the  last. 
And  my  reward  "  -  here  her  hands  fell  and  her 
voice  dropped  to  a  dulled  tone  —  "  my  reward  was 
to  see  my  child,  my  one  hope  in  life,  lying  dend  at 
his  father's  feet,  his  blood  running  clown  from  the 
knife  held  above  him!  " 

"  Your  child !  My  God !  "  Jack  gasped,  feeling 
himself  and  his  passion  put  off  at  a  great  distance 
by  the  tragedy  of  her  fate. 

"  Can  you  wonder  that  I  am  different  from  other 
women?  "  she  went  on,  more  dreamily.  "  Can  you 

305 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

wonder  that  I  crept  away,  here  to  the  solitude  of  a 
distant  country  to  hide  myself?  It  was  a  strange 
chance  that  brought  me  in  contact  with  my  old  ac- 
quaintance, Meg.  You  and  she  have  been,  oh,  so 
good  to  me,  and  led  me  back  into  the  serener  ways 
of  life.  Believe  me,  I  am  grateful  to  you,  and  would 
be  pained  to  give  you  trouble  —  "  she  ended,  with 
a  wistful  look  at  him. 

Jack  hesitated,  his  honest  soul  rent  between  the 
passion  of  pity  evoked  by  her  words,  and  his  own 
certainty  of  the  wrong  that  her  silence  had  done 
him. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  began,  after  a  moment,  "  the 
way  was  —  perhaps  it  was  natural  enough  —  that 
you  never  thought  how  hard  it  would  come  on  me, 
leaving  me  in  ignorance.  You  weren't  to  know,  of 
course,  that  I  should  make  such  a  fool  of  myself  " 
—  then  his  pain  mastering  his  compunction  —  "  but 
oh,  if  you  only  could  have  guessed  what  you  have 
grown  to  be  to  me,  what  it  will  be  to  live  without 
seeing  you !  " 

She  twisted  her  hands  together  with  a  little  move- 
ment of  pain. 

"  It  hurts  so  to  have  to  hurt  you,"  she  whispered. 
"  But  we  seemed  such  ages  apart,  you  with  every- 
thing bright  ahead  of  you,  and  me  a  poor  bruised, 
battered  creature  in  whom  all  feeling  should  be 
dead." 

He  turned  on  her  quickly. 

"  And  is  it  really  dead  ?  Is  there  no  one  else 
can  wake  it  up?  " 

For  a  breathless  moment  she  stared  into  his  eyes, 
and  then  a  crimson  flush  passed  slowly  across  her 


306 


THE   AMERICAN   ARTIST 

face.  Silently  she  shook  her  head,  but  Jack  spoke, 
very  gently: 

"  Ah,  I  see.  Forgive  me,  I  should  not  have  said 
that.  Well,  it  is  good-bye  now.  I  go  back  to 
Dublin  next  week  anyway,  and  think  I'll  do  the 
rest  of  my  leave  in  town.  I'm  sorry  I  bothered  you 
and  made  a  fool  of  myself.  Good-bye,"  and  just 
touching  the  hand  that  hung  by  her  side  he  turned 
and  was  gone. 

Jack  was  not  again  visible  to  his  friends  until 
he  appeared  late  at  the  dinner-table ;  and  then,  after 
one  quick  glance  at  his  face,  his  sister  did  not  look 
at  him  again,  but  kept  up  a  stream  of  talk  as  best 
she  might,  enticing  her  mother  on  to  discourse 
upon  a  bazaar,  and  her  father  to  point  out  at  length 
his  views  as  to  the  mistakes  committed  by  the  pres- 
ent government,  all  the  while  keeping  an  eye  on 
Tommy  Curtis,  in  case  she  should  tease  Jack. 

The  meal  was  nearly  over  when  Jack  broke  his 
silence,  and  Meg  started  nervously  at  something 
unfamiliar  in  his  voice. 

"  Ellen  will  be  able  to  commence  one  of  her 
favourite  house-cleaning  sprees  in  my  room  to-mor- 
row, mother,  for  I  think  that  I'll  be  off  in  the 
morning  to  Cowes.  I've  only  a  week's  more  leave, 
you  know,  and  Dick  Loring  writes  that  he  is  just 
taking  his  yacht  out  and  will  land  me  at  Kingston. 
Don't  you  wish  you  were  coming,  Meg?" 

"  That  I  do,"  she  answered,  not  looking  up  from 
an  elaborate  pattern  of  strawberry  stalks  on  her 
plate. 

"Whatever  is  up,  Meg?"  said  Tommy,  taking 
her  arm  as  they  went  out  into  the  clear  darkness 
of  the  summer  night.  "  You  look  as  though  you  had 

807 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

just  had  a  legacy  that  you  must  keep  dark,  and 
Jack  suggests  nothing  but  a  toothache.  And  yet 
you  generally  hunt  in  couples.  Can  the  lovely 
widow  have  refused  him?  What  fun!"  For  if 
Tommy  was  ever  vindictive  to  any  one,  it  was  to 
Jack,  who  for  years  had  been  held  before  her  in 
the  light  of  a  desirable  husband. 

Meg  felt  a  pang  of  shame  that  her  joy  should  be 
Jack's  sorrow.  But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost 
in  getting  that  lively  young  woman  out  of  the  suf- 
ferer's way. 

"  Look  here,  Tommy,  go  in  like  a  dear,  for  I  want 
to  speak  to  Jack  presently.  Go  and  play  something, 
not  gay  and  not  sad  —  something  dull  and  neutral." 

"  That's  a  large  order,"  Tommy  commented,  as 
she  obeyed,  and  apparently  found  it  impossible  of 
solution,  for  no  music  sounded  from  the  windows. 

Presently  Jack's  cigar  showed  a  red  point  in  the 
doorway,  and  knowing  that  the  light  was  on  her 
white  skirts,  Meg  waited  to  see  if  he  would  come 
to  her. 

"You  there,  Meg?  Where's  Tommy?"  came 
the  cautious  question. 

"  She's  indoors.     She  won't  come  out." 

"  That's  right.  My  father  has  just  been  suggest- 
ing that  she  and  I  pledge  our  troth  before  I  go,  and 
I  said  '  No,  thank  you,'  civilly.  One  comfort,  she'd 
never  have  me,"  and  he  laughed  dismally.  "  But 
look  here,  you  know  that  thing  you  showed  me  in 
the  paper  to-day?  Well,  I  wouldn't  say  anything 
to  Mrs.  Broderick  about  it  if  I  were  you." 

"  No,  I  won't." 

"  It  was  her  husband,   you  see,  and  the  poor 

308 


THE   AMERICAN   ARTIST 

fellow's  mad,  and  she  doesn't  like  talking  about  him, 
you  know." 

This  was  delivered  with  a  fine  air  of  carelessness 
which  caused  Meg's  eyes  to  grow  dim. 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  was  her  mechanical  reply. 

"  She's  had  a  lot  of  trouble  —  dreadful  trouble 
—  and  —  you'll  be  kind  to  her  always  when  you 
can,  won't  you?"  came  in  more  muffled  tones 
through  the  darkness. 

All  their  childhood's  loyal  comradeship  rose  up 
in  that  moment  to  fight  down  the  fierce  jealousy  in 
Meg's  heart,  that  kept  repeating,  "  And  yet  she  can 
make  every  man  care  for  her;  why  must  she  take 
every  one?  " 

There  was  an  indignation,  too,  for  Jack's  hurt, 
but  the  old  loyalty  asserted  itself  in  her  words : 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Jack,  but  —  must  you  go 
to-morrow?  " 

"  I  might  as  well.  And  look  here,  don't  bother  to 
be  up  early.  I  must  be  off  to  send  some  wires  and 
pack  now.  Bye-bye,  Meg,"  and  with  a  quick  fare- 
well kiss  he  marched  away,  while  Meg  choked  back 
a  sob  and  gave  a  vindictive  thought  to  the  friend 
she  had  a  little  while  ago  considered  perfection. 


309 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

MOTHER    AND    SON 

FOR  the  next  few  days  Margaret  kept  as  much 
to  herself  as  possible,  brooding  over  poor 
Jack's  tragedy,  and  the  parts  played  in  it 
by  the  different  actors. 

The  longer  she  brooded,  the  stronger  became  the 
impression  that  there  must  have  been  something 
more  than  accident  in  Gilbert  Clinch's  reticence 
as  to  Mrs.  Broderick's  history.  It  must  have  been 
by  her  orders,  she  said  to  herself,  bitterly,  only  for 
what  cause? 

"  Well,  that's  what  I  mean  to  find  out,"  she 
decided,  and  putting  on  a  very  smart  red  and  white 
boating-dress,  she  summoned  Tommy  Curtis  to  an 
afternoon  in  the  punt.  Meg  knew  that  she  never 
looked  so  tall  and  slim  as  when  reaching  up  to  grasp 
the  long  punting-pole. 

When  dwellers  on  the  Thames  want  to  see  their 
acquaintances,  they  go  out  on  the  water,  as  dwellers 
in  villages  walk  down  the  High  Street. 

"  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Clinch  is  out  in  his  canoe 
to-day?  I  haven't  seen  him  since  Jack  left,"  she 
remarked,  carelessly,  and  Tommy  answered,  with 
the  tranquil  innocence  of  a  two-year-old : 

310 


MOTHER   AND    SON 

'  They  generally  do  go  up-stream  about  four 
o'clock,  I  think." 

Her  information  proved  correct,  for  presently, 
when  the  long  pole  had  securely  wedged  the  punt 
in  among  the  sweet-scented  reeds  under  an  old 
willow,  and  that  destroyer  of  peace,  the  spirit-lamp, 
had  been  started,  the  canoe  came  gliding  in  toward 
them,  Gilbert  paddling  and  Brindle  stretched  lazily 
out. 

"  You're  like  the  swans,  and  scent  the  tea-basket 
from  afar,"  Tommy  said.  "  Come,  Mr.  Brindle, 
sit  on  these  cushions  and  draw  me  pictures." 

"  I  don't  see  why  cushions  and  myself  always 
seem  to  be  associated  in  the  feminine  mind,"  Brindle 
lamented,  though  he  made  the  change  to  the  larger 
quarters  with  great  alacrity. 

Gilbert  sat  still  in  the  canoe,  one  hand  lightly 
holding  by  the  punt.  His  head  was  bare,  his  hair 
slightly  disordered,  and  to  Margaret  he  seemed 
to  have  a  younger,  brighter  aspect,  which  she 
highly  approved. 

"  You  are  like  Jack,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "  I 
never  saw  it  so  strongly  before." 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so,  for  I  know  that  must  be 
an  open  door  to  your  favour,"  he  said,  cheerfully, 
and  the  girl  blushed  with  a  new  sense  of  shame. 

"  But  I'm  very  sorry  he  had  to  go  off  in  such 
a  hurry.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  him 
first,"  he  went  on. 

A  sudden  purpose  came  to  Margaret.  The  two 
at  the  other  end  of  the  boat  were  absorbed,  and  she 
and  Gilbert  were  practically  alone,  their  voices  cov- 
ered by  the  sound  of  the  weir. 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  he  was  so 

311 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

worried  and  upset  —  I  never  saw  Jack  so  upset 
before,"  she  said,  pathetically;  then  looking  up  at 
Gilbert  with  the  full  force  of  her  big  dark  eyes : 

"  Why  did  neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Broderick  ever 
tell  us  that  her  husband  was  alive?" 

His  face  set,  as  does  a  strong  man's  to  meet  a 
sudden  attack. 

"  If  she  chose  to  be  silent,  it  was  not  for  me  to 
speak,"  he  said,  gravely;  then  questioned,  almost 
sternly : 

"  But  why  do  you  ask  me  that  now?  " 

Her  answer  was  a  triumph  of  pathos. 

"  Only  because  I  cannot  help  thinking  so  much 
of  them.     It  might  have  saved  him  —  and  her  - 
from  a  lifelong  sorrow  if  you  had  been  more  frank." 

Gilbert  paled  under  his  bronze  at  the  certainty 
given  by  her  words  that  Isabel  shared  Jack's  feel- 
ings, but  he  had  long  ago  learnt  the  lesson  of  self- 
control,  and  only  answered,  with  quiet  reserve: 

"  I  think  that  if  you  knew  more  of  the  circum- 
stances you  would  see  that  I  could  not  have  acted 
differently." 

Her  arrow  was  planted;  it  was  no  part  of  Mar- 
garet's plan  to  estrange  Gilbert. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  seem  intrusive,  but  you  know 
what  Jack  is  to  me,  and  Mrs.  Broderick  has  been 
my  ideal  since  I  was  a  long-legged  tomboy.  I 
haven't  the  courage  to  go  and  see  her  grieving, 
when  I  can  do  nothing  for  her.  Have  you  seen 
her  since  —  "  she  paused. 

"  I  saw  her  yesterday,"  he  said,  his  mind  mean- 
time anxiously  recalling  each  little  sign  that  had 
made  him  think  her  overworked  and  depressed. 

"  Tea  is  ready,"  sung  out  Tommy,  from  the  other 

312 


MOTHER   AND    SON 

end  of  the  punt,  and  as  soon  as  possible  afterward, 
Gilbert  took  his  departure. 

"  Change  partners,  and  down  the  middle,"  said 
Brindle,  as  they  drifted  down,  "  the  fair  Persephone 
never  vouchsafes  me  a  glance  nowadays." 

"  You  don't  give  her  much  chance,  it  seems  to 
me,"  Gilbert  said,  rousing  himself  from  his  abstrac- 
tion. "  And  do  you  think  you  need  devote  yourself 
quite  so  violently  to  the  little  Curtis  girl  ?  I  under- 
stand she  is  a  bit  of  an  heiress,  and  is  destined 
for  my  cousin  Jack." 

"  They  neither  of  them  seem  in  much  of  a  hurry 
then.  My  dear  fellow,  don't  you  know  that  when 
a  nice  little  girl  shows  that  she  wants  me  to  amuse 
her,  I  do  my  best  at  it?  I  hate  that  cold-blooded 
English  way  of  accepting  their  attentions,"  Brindle 
retorted. 

"  Well,  don't  go  making  a  fool  of  yourself,  that's 
all,"  Gilbert  cautioned. 

At  the  same  time  Tommy  was  saying: 

"  I  do  think  that  American  men  take  so  much 
more  trouble  to  amuse  girls  than  Englishmen  do, 
don't  you,  Meg?  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  They  are  different,  certainly," 
Meg  agreed. 

Meetings  like  this  one  took  place  frequently,  and 
every  day  Gilbert's  feeling  of  interest  in  Margaret 
grew  stronger,  as  well  as  his  resolve  never  to  put 
himself  in  a  position  of  an  enemy  to  the  brother 
and  sister  who  had  given  him  this  new  sense  of 
kinship. 

Isabel  had  immersed  herself  in  her  work,  making 
excuses  whenever  Gilbert  tried  to  persuade  her  to 
go  out  on  the  water  with  them.  And  so  they  re- 

313 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

mained  a  quartette,  until  one  day  when  Mr.  Nugent- 
Barr,  taking  a  walk  along  the  towing-path,  spied 
Tommy  and  Brindle  drifting  about  in  the  canoe, 
evidently  absorbed  in  each  other,  while  the  punt 
was  nowhere  in  sight.  He  went  home,  meditating, 
and  making  no  comments,  wrote  that  evening  a 
letter  which  two  days  later  brought  one  summoning 
Tommy  back  to  her  family  the  next  day,  on  plea 
of  a  coming  dance. 

"  You'll  say  good-bye  to  Mr.  Brindle  for  me, 
Meg,"  she  said,  dolorously. 

"  I  won't  do  anything  of  the  kind,  and  I  think 
it  is  rather  a  good  thing  you  are  going  back  to 
Selina.  She'll  keep  you  in  order,"  announced  Meg, 
who  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  all  in  her  power 
to  get  Tommy  married  to  Jack. 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  was  the  stout  answer,  and 
that  evening  there  was  a  little  note  slipped  into  the 
village  post-box  which  would  have  shocked  Meg. 

Tommy  had  at  last  found  something  original 
to  suit  her  tastes,  and  she  did  not  mean  to  let  it 
slip  in  a  hurry. 

Things  were  not  cheerful  at  Monk's  Grange. 
Mr.  Nugent-Barr  was  more  peevishly  restless  than 
ever,  perpetually  questioning  Margaret  as  to  what 
Gilbert  had  told  her  of  his  life  and  prospects.  When 
his  nephew  came  to  the  house,  he  seemed  constrained 
and  uneasy  in  his  presence,  and  yet  if  he  failed  to 
appear  at  the  usual  time  he  worried  at  his  absence. 

There  was  a  decided  tone  of  relief  in  his  voice 
when  one  morning  at  breakfast  he  looked  up  from 
a  letter  to  say  to  Margaret: 

"  Your  grandmother  is  on  her  way  home,  coming 
straight  through  from  Aix." 


MOTHER   AND    SON 

"  Granny ! "  Meg  said,  with  a  little  gasp  of 
dismay,  "  why,  I  thought  the  doctor  had  her  safe  at 
Aix  for  the  whole  summer !  " 

"  I  trust  that  she  is  safe,  wherever  she  is,"  was 
the  prim  retort.  "  But,  yes,  from  what  Madame 
Estivalet  says,  she  certainly  does  seem  to  be  acting 
against  their  wishes." 

"  Whatever  is  she  in  such  a  hurry  for  ?  "  asked 
Meg. 

"  The  wish  to  get  home  is  natural  enough." 

Meg  had  her  own  thoughts,  but  held  her  tongue, 
and  she  had  further  opportunities  of  discretion, 
when  her  grandmother  arrived,  horribly  fractious, 
and  evidently  suffering  in  mind  and  body. 

Madame  Estivalet  immediately  retired  to  bed  with 
an  attack  of  nerves,  and  Ellen  Sievert  confided  to 
the  housekeeper  that  she  wouldn't  go  through  that 
journey  again  for  a  hundred  pounds. 

The  master  of  the  house  alone  seemed  pleased 
at  his  mother's  arrival,  and  was  closeted  with  her 
early  the  next  morning. 

An  awesome  sight  was  the  old  woman,  sitting 
bolstered  up  with  many  cushions  in  bed.  head  and 
shoulders  swathed  in  a  red  silk  shawl,  her  hands, 
as  usual,  loaded  with  rings. 

Hardly  was  the  door  closed  before  she  demanded : 

"  Well,  have  you  found  out  what  he  wants?  " 

"  What  he  wants?    You  mean  Gilbert  Clinch?  " 

"Who  else  could  I  mean?  Hasn't  he  showed 
his  hand  yet?  Has  he  done  nothing?" 

Her  son  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  with  the 
slowness  that  always  stirred  her  impatience: 

"  Nothing  save  come  and  go,  as  any  other  neigh- 


315 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

bour  might.  The  young  people  and  he  made  friends, 
but  I  thought  it  best  not  to  drop  any  hints." 

"  No,  you  never  could  manage  Margaret.  Leave 
her  to  me.  And  you  think  she  likes  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Nugent-Barr  tried  his  best  to  look  dignified, 
as  he  asked : 

"  And  what  does  it  matter  whether  she  likes  him 
or  not  ? "  Then  breaking  down  into  an  appeal, 
"  Mother,  you  must  tell  me  why  you  make  so  much 
of  this?" 

But  unheeding  his  words,  the  old  woman  was 
muttering  to  herself,  and  he  paused  to  listen : 

"  Old  Isaac !  Old  Isaac !  That  most  pig-headed 
of  all  pig-headed  Dutchmen!  I  always  knew  that 
it  would  come  through  him!  Why  did  I  ever  let 
him  —  "  even  in  the  outpouring  of  her  rage  she 
checked  herself  here,  with  a  furtive  glance  at  her 
son,  who  asked,  uneasily: 

"  What  would  come  through  him  ?  " 

She  leaned  forward  and  clutched  his  arm  in  her 
bony  grasp. 

"  I  always  thought  that  your  father  wanted  to 
make  another  will.  At  the  last  I  felt  sure  that  he 
had  made  it,  and  if  so,  old  Isaac  knew  of  it.  What 
if  that  is  the  reason  of  his  coming  now  ?  " 

Her  listener  glanced  around  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  Hush,  mother,  better  not  talk  about  such  things. 
Even  an  old  fool  of  a  fisherman  wouldn't  keep  a 
will  hidden  away  for  nearly  twenty  years  and  then 
produce  it." 

"  Well,  what  is  this  man  coming  here  for  if  not 
to  find  out  about  something  that  Isaac  Neisner  has 
told  him  of?  "  she  hissed,  in  an  angry  whisper. 


316 


MOTHER   AND    SON 

"What  could  he  find  out?  There  is  no  one 
here  to  tell  him  anything." 

"There  is  Ellen  Sievert." 

The  son  stared  at  his  mother  with  a  growing  fear 
in  his  eyes,  as  though  of  some  coming  revelation. 

"  What  is  there  for  her  to  tell  him?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  more  authoritative  tone  than  he  had  often  used 
to  her. 

"  Nothing,  of  course,  nothing.  What  could  there 
be?  Only  —  you  know  that  she  and  Isaac  helped 
me  to  nurse  your  father  at  the  end,  and  if  there 
were  any  such  last  attempt  at  a  will  she  may  have 
known  of  it.  She  had  known  that  daughter  of  his 
when  they  were  girls." 

"  Ellen  is  not  likely  at  this  time  of  day  to  risk 
her  good  home  for  a  man  she  has  never  seen,"  he 
answered,  his  very  want  of  imagination  dulling  his 
suspicions.  "  All  the  same  I  cannot  understand 
your  fear  of  this  man.  Mother,  what  was  the  true 
story  of  this  half-sister  of  mine?" 

"  That's  what  he  never  would  tell  me,"  the  old 
woman  answered,  in  low,  intense  tones.  "  I  knew 
from  Ellen  that  he  had  kept  her  and  her  mother 
living  like  working  women  and  that,  after  her 
mother's  death,  the  girl  quarrelled  with  him,  and 
left  home  to  marry  this  minister  of  some  American 
sect,  and  her  father  never  saw  her  again.  I  never 
wondered  that  she  quarrelled  with  him,  but  who 
knows  what  shame  or  crime  may  have  been  hidden 
—  who  knows?  "  she  crooned  to  herself,  as  though 
forgetting  her  listener  in  the  shadows  of  her  past. 

With  a  start  she  roused  herself,  though  still 
seeming  vague. 

"  It  was  that  look  in  his  face  that  frightened  me 

317 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

when  he  came  in  Florence  —  the  look  of  Jonathan 
Bauer,  who  all  his  life  got  what  he  wanted  at  what- 
ever cost."  Then  in  a  brisker  tone,  "  But  it's  no 
use  talking  about  the  past ;  we  must  get  things  in 
hand  now.  I  sent  you  the  letter  in  answer  to  my 
inquiries,  the  letter  that  shows  that  this  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  must  have  come  here  to  spy  out  the  land 
beforehand  for  him.  Whether  he  is  a  tool  of  hers, 
or  she  of  his,  remains  to  be  seen.  Anyway,  we 
must  try  through  Margaret  to  detach  him  from  her, 
so  that  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  — "  she 
paused,  as  though  swallowing  a  bitter  pill,  and  then 
broke  out : 

"  My  pretty  Margaret !  My  dainty  Margaret ! 
Of  whom  I  meant  to  make  a  grande  dame  —  a 
grande  dame!  "  and  again  the  senile  vagueness  came 
over  her. 

Her  son  sat  looking  at  her  with  a  new  awe  of 
the  barrier  that  was  coming  between  them,  realising 
his  own  weakness  without  her.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  but  that  Madame  de  Barre  was  aging 
fast. 

"Where's  Meg?"  she  asked,  with  one  of  her 
sudden  starts  into  keenness,  "  I  must  have  a  talk 
with  her  soon.  You  haven't  told  her  anything  of 
this  story  of  his  being  Mrs.  Broderick's  old  love? 
No?  That's  right.  We  mustn't  set  her  against 
him  yet,  until  we  see  how  things  go.  Leave  me 
now  to  rest." 


318 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE   POISON   OF   ASPS 

MARGARET  had  been  spending  a  long  soli- 
tary afternoon  on  the  river,  looking  over 
at  the  closed  shutters  of  the  Vernade  house 
and  giving  a  sigh  to  their  London  gaieties,  wonder- 
ing with  uneasy  jealousy  if  Gilbert  were  with  Mrs. 
Broderick,  and  generally  feeling  at  odds  with  her 
world. 

It  was  late  when  she  left  the  punt  at  the  steps  and 
strolled  up  toward  the  house,  its  gray  walls,  dark 
against  the  sunset,  seeming  to  reach  out  their  shadow 
to  draw  her  away  from  the  evening  peace  and 
beauty. 

She  looked  up  at  them  with  all  her  old  distaste. 

"  I  don't  know  when  you  look  darkest  and 
dreariest,"  she  apostrophised  them,  vengefully,  "  on 
a  fine  summer  evening  or  a  dreary  winter  day. 
Other  old  houses  don't  look  such  a  concentrated 
essence  of  dead  sins  as  you  do.  Why  can't  you 
look  cheerfully  respectable  as  a  decent  house 
should?" 

But  the  old  walls  stared  back  at  her  as  though 
they  knew  a  very  good  reason  for  looking  the  con- 
trary. 

Her  own  room  was  a  cheerful  place  enough,  with 

319 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

its  yellow  and  white  furnishing,  and  its  western 
sunshine  through  a  gap  in  the  heavy  trees. 

Cheerful  too  from  long  affectionate  habit  was 
the  appearance  of  the  old  woman  with  shrewd, 
kindly  face  who  knocked  and  entered,  saying  in  the 
half-scolding,  half-welcoming  tone  of  nursery  days : 

"  You're  very  late  to-day,  Miss  Meggie.  Your 
grandmother's  been  fussing  this  hour  past." 

"  Fussing  for  any  reason,  or  just  because  she 
felt  like  fussing?"  Meg  asked,  as  she  took  off  her 
hat  before  the  glass. 

"  Well,  she  does  seem  to  have  something  on  her 
mind  like  —  has  had  all  the  time  we've  been  in 
Aix,  for  the  matter  of  that.  But  she  quieted  down 
a  bit  after  she  had  her  tea,  so  you'd  better  go  to 
her  now  and  get  what  she  has  to  say  over,  ha'n't 
you,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  —  then  turning  suddenly  from  the 
glass  to  face  the  servant,  —  "  Lennie,  do  you  know 
if  it's  about  my  cousin,  Gilbert  Clinch?  Didn't 
Granny  tell  you  that  we  had  known  him  in  Flor- 
ence?" 

The  name  seemed  to  act  like  a  spell  on  the  old 
woman,  who  jumped  as  though  she  had  had  a  pin 
stuck  in  her. 

"  Susan's  child !  "  she  said,  in  shrill  tones.  "  The 
Lord's  sakes!  Is  he  here?  Sure  enough  it's  been 
him  that's  put  the  old  lady  in  such  tantrums  for  a 
month  and  more !  " 

Margaret's  face  reflected  that  uncomprehended 
fear  that  she  saw  before  her. 

"  Why  should  it  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,  child.  I  don't  want  to  know,  and 
don't  you  either.  It's  the  best  way,"  was  the 

320 


THE    POISON   OF   ASPS 

hurried  answer.  It  brought  a  light  of  determination 
to  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  I  will  know.  I  will  find  out.  I'm  going  to 
her  now,"  she  said,  throwing  her  hat  on  the  bed 
and  moving  to  the  door. 

The  nurse  laid  a  detaining  grasp  on  her  arm. 

"  Miss  Meg  —  my  little  Meggie  —  don't  ask  her 
anything.  Don't  make  her  angry.  No  one  ever 
prospers  that  does.  If  there's  anything  you  want 
to  know  —  though  I  says  it  again,  don't  you  know 
it  if  you  can  help  it  —  come  to  your  old  nurse  who 
loves  you  true." 

"  It's  all  right,  Lennie,  don't  worry  yourself," 
Margaret  said,  looking  down  with  a  smile  at  the 
bent  form  beside  her.  "  You  know  that  I'm  never 
the  least  bit  afraid  of  her.  I  leave  that  to  my  father. 
I've  seen  her  angry  before  now,  and  it  didn't  hurt 
me;  besides,  I  can't  think  what  on  earth  she  has 
to  be  angry  at.  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  find  out. 
Bye-bye,  Lennie,"  and  with  a  laugh  she  was  gone. 

For  all  her  brave  bearing,  Margaret  felt  a  curi- 
ous chill  upon  her  as  she  opened  the  door  of  her 
grandmother's  sitting-room.  A  stately  room  it 
was,  once  the  withdrawing-room  of  an  imprisoned 
princess,  and  in  its  great  oriel  window,  that  looked 
down  a  reach  of  the  river  to  the  little  town,  sat 
Madame  de  Barre,  huddled  in  her  usual  fashion  in 
bright  shawls. 

The  melancholy  charm  of  the  summer  night  had 
apparently  no  interest  for  her,  for  instead  of  sitting 
idly  reminiscent  under  its  spell,  as  is  the  wont  of 
nice  old  ladies,  she  was  trifling  with  a  small  tray  of 
bric-a-brac  set  on  the  table  beside  her.  There  were 
bits  of  clumsy  jewelry  set  with  rough  turquoises  and 

321 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

garnets,  such  as  the  Florentine  women  used  to  wear ; 
there  were  the  heavy  coral  or  gold  necklaces  of  the 
Roman  peasants,  as  well  as  some  Swiss  ornaments 
and  strings  of  bright  amethyst  and  cornelian  beads. 

Madame  Estivalet  was  apparently  sorting  out  a 
box  of  the  same  kind  of  treasures,  and  one  glance 
told  Margaret  that  she  wore  her  most  cowed  and 
dispirited  air. 

The  heavy  air  of  the  room  with  windows  closed, 
and  great  bunches  of  heliotrope  about  it;  the  fan- 
tastic figure  of  her  grandmother,  all,  used  as  she 
was  to  it,  increased  the  girl's  vague  sense  of  un- 
easiness. 

She  had  expected  to  be  greeted  on  her  entrance 
with  a  voluble  outburst  of  wrath,  instead  of  which 
the  old  lady  looked  up  and  nodded  with  a  smile 
which  might  have  frightened  a  child  into  fits,  but 
to  which  Margaret  was  accustomed. 

"  Ellen  said  that  you  wanted  me,  Granny,"  she 
began. 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  was  asking  for  you  awhile  ago. 
We  old  folks  find  the  days  long  when  we  don't 
know  what  is  going  on.  Estivalet  and  I  have  taken 
to  toys  like  children.  You  can  go  now,  and  write 
your  diary,  or  your  poetry,  or  whatever  it  is  you 
bemoan  yourself  in,"  she  said,  with  a  vicious  snarl 
at  the  scared-looking  companion,  who  hastened  to 
avail  herself  of  the  permission. 

With  a  weird  return  to  her  honeyed  manner,  the 
old  lady  resumed : 

"  And  now,  come  and  sit  down  cosily,  and  tell 
me  what  you  have  been  doing  since  I  have  seen  you. 
I  fear  it's  dull  for  you  here.  We  must  see  about 


322 


THE    POISON    OF   ASPS 

your  getting  to  Cowes  in  a  week  or  two.     There 
are  plenty  of  people  would  be  glad  to  have  you." 

"  The  Curtises  want  me  to  go  up  for  their  dance 
and  a  lot  of  things  next  week,  but  I  would  need 
some  new  clothes,"  Meg  said,  striking  while  the 
iron  was  hot. 

"  Well,  well,  we  must  see  about  it.  But  tell  me 
now,  how  have  you  been  getting  on  with  this  new 
cousin  ?  Jack  liked  him,  I  hear  ?  " 

Meg,  intending  to  keep  her  schemes  and  hopes 
to  herself,  felt  the  black  eyes  boring  her  through 
like  gimlets. 

"  Oh,  Jack  would  like  any  one  that  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  ordered  him  to.  He  is  just  a  sheet  of 
blotting-paper  to  that  lady  at  present.  He's  taken 
himself  off  in  the  sulks  because  he  finds  that  she 
has  a  live  husband,  even  if  he  is  a  mad  one,"  she 
said,  the  soreness  of  her  heart  coming  out  in  petu- 
lance against  her  ally. 

"  Well,  well,  Jack  never  had  your  head,  my  dear. 
No,  it  is  you  who  should  have  been  the  man  and 
had  the  bigger  share  of  the  money.  I  shall  see 
that  you  have  it  too,  if  you  get  a  fitting  husband." 

"  I  only  want  my  share,"  Meg  protested,  while, 
even  with  the  words,  a  dazzling  new  possibility 
stirred  her  heart  with  the  love  of  gold. 

"  And  so  this  American  lady  has  got  Jack  under 
her  thumb,  has  she?  It's  a  little  way  of  hers,  from 
what  I  hear.  She  took  advantage  of  Gilbert 
Clinch's  poverty  to  make  him  a  sort  of  upper 
servant,  paying  him  for  going  about  with  them 
to  look  after  her  husband,  and  when,  as  soon  as 
he  got  any  money  and  got  away  from  her,  she  fol 
lowed  him  to  Europe,  and  knowing  that  he  meant 

323 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

to  come  and  claim  our  relationship,  settled  herself 
here  first  and  made  a  mouthful  of  our  poor,  soft 
Jack.  You  were  rather  rash  about  her,  I  must  say, 
my  dear,  for  you  should  have  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  be  able  to  class  such  women." 

This  honeyed  flow  of  malevolent  words  bewil- 
dered Margaret  with  their  horrible  plausibility,  the 
old  truth  holding  good: 

"  A  lie  that  is  half  a  truth  is  a  harder  matter  to  fight." 

"  How  do  you  know  this,  Granny  ?  "   she  asked. 

"  It  was  easy  enough  to  make  inquiries  when  I 
knew  that  they  had  spent  last  summer  at  the 
Moorings.  These  facts  were  well  known  to  our 
agent.  I  only  got  the  letter  last  week."  Then 
with  a  change  to  a  more  wheedling  voice,  "  But 
you  know,  my  dear,  we  mustn't  be  too  hard  on 
your  cousin,  who  seems  to  have  done  his  best  to 
sever  the  connection.  Who  knows  but  what  it 
may  all  have  originated  in  ambition  on  his  part? 
A  great  deal  lies  in  your  power  in  exerting  a 
better  influence  over  him.  I  cannot  believe  that 
my  pretty  girl  could  fail  to  influence  any  one  she 
wished  to,"  and  the  old  woman  ended  with  an 
unsavoury  leer. 

Meg  sat  gazing  out  upon  the  dark  masses  of 
the  park  trees,  a  sick  disillusionment  with  life  at 
her  heart.  Was  there  no  one  left  true  and  good 
in  this  world?  Were  Jack  and  Gilbert  both  weak 
tools  in  the  designing  hands  of  a  woman?  She 
could  read  through  her  grandmother's  wiles  easily 
enough,  and  saw  that  she  was  under  orders  to  do 
her  best  to  make  her  cousin  fall  in  love  with  her, 

324 


THE    POISON    OF   ASPS 

and  these  orders  filled  her  with  an  uneasy  fear. 
Why  should  her  grandmother  feel  such  a  desire  to 
get  a  hold  on  this  apparently  unimportant  American 
cousin  unless  there  was  some  harm  that  he  was  in 
a  position  to  do  them? 

Well,  at  any  rate,  her  grandmother's  schemes 
seemed  to  march  with  her  own  at  present,  she  said 
to  herself  with  a  new  recklessness.  But  there  was 
one  question  more  she  must  ask : 

"  Under  the  circumstances  I  can  hardly  under- 
stand his  coming  here  to  claim  our  friendship.  Can 
you,  Granny?  " 

The  old  woman  sent  a  long  keen  glance  after  her, 
before  she  played  her  next  card. 

"  Some  motive  he  must  have,  my  dear,  and  that 
remains  for  us  to  find  out.  After  all,  I  cannot  but 
feel  a  hearty  sympathy  for  the  boy  when  I  think 
that  he  is  most  likely  ignorant  of  the  doubtfulness 
of  his  mother's  marriage  or  his  own  parentage. 
That  there  was  some  such  cause  for  my  husband's 
anger  with  his  daughter  I  have  good  reason  to 
know.  But  of  all  that,  this  poor  young  fellow  is 
probably  ignorant.  His  little  legacy  was  left  to 
him  by  name,  you  know.  I  should  like  to  treat 
him  as  my  husband's  grandchild." 

Even  with  the  smarting  pain  at  her  heart  these 
noble  sentiments  on  her  grandmother's  lips  struck 
Margaret's  quick  sense  of  humour,  so  that  a  hard 
little  laugh  came. 

"  All  right,  Granny,  I  understand.  I  am  to  kill 
the  fatted  calf  for  the  one  sinner  and  shake  the  dust 
off  my  feet  with  the  other.  That's  the  way  of  the 
world,  isn't  it?  I  shall  wear  my  little  white  pongee, 
as  a  suitable  robe  of  innocence  when  the  prodigal 

325 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

comes  to  dinner  to-night.  And  by  the  bye,  may  I 
write  to  Clementine  to-day  about  a  new  ball-dress? 
I  have  such  a  good  idea  —  the  palest,  palest  yellow 
with  yards  and  yards  of  daisy  and  buttercup  edgings. 
I  want  to  dress  the  part,  you  know.  And  I  suppose 
I  may  have  a  garden-party  dress,  too?  Thanks, 
ever  so  much,"  then  pausing  at  the  door,  "  and  per- 
haps, Granny,  it  would  be  just  as  well  not  to  let 
Jack  get  hold  of  these  pretty  stories  of  his  Dulcinea, 
or  he  will  come  charging  over  —  a  regular  Don 
Quixote  —  and  likely  upset  the  apple-cart." 

With  this  mixture  of  metaphors  she  was  gone, 
and  the  old  woman  sat  shaking  her  head. 

"  She  is  clever.  She  understands  and  feels  more 
than  she  will  show.  Thinking  to  fool  me  with  her 
daisies  and  buttercups,"  she  chuckled  to  herself. 

With  an  instinctive  craving  after  a  healthier  at- 
mosphere, Meg  went  off  and  sought  her  mother  in 
her  sitting-room,  where  the  light-coloured  chintzes 
formed  such  a  contrast  to  the  tawdry  splendours  of 
Madame  de  Barre's  rooms. 

That  lady,  placidly  dozing  over  her  lace-making, 
looked  up  in  surprise  at  her  daughter's  advent. 

"  Have  you  been  with  your  grandmother,  dear  ? 
I  hope  she  is  feeling  less  fidgety  now  ?  " 

Meg  laughed  drearily. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  her  temper  is  settling  down. 
She  has  promised  me  some  smart  gowns  if  I  go  up 
to  town  next  week.  You  wouldn't  miss  me,  mother, 
would  you  ?  "  she  added,  wistfully. 

That  lady  seemed  rather  at  a  loss. 

"  Of  course  we  always  miss  you,  dear,  but  I 
suppose  that  your  grandmother  wants  you  to  go?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  and  then  to  her  own,  and  her 

326 


THE    POISON    OF   ASPS 

mother's  astonishment,  a  few  impetuous  sobs  broke 
out. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  wish  you  and  I  could  just  settle 
things  for  ourselves  like  other  mothers  and  daugh- 
ters." 

A  touch  of  maternal  tenderness  showed  in  the 
lymphatic  lady,  as  she  soothed  the  excited  girl. 

"  There,  dear,  there !  I  always  wished  it  might 
be  so,  but  your  father  would  be  angry  if  he  heard 
us.  You  must  try  to  be  patient  if  she  is  worrying, 
and  perhaps  some  day  —  "  but  finding  herself  about 
to  indulge  in  an  unchristian  wish  for  the  speedy  end 
cf  her  life's  tyrant,  she  checked  herself.  "  There, 
dear,  it's  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Run  away  and 
get  ready." 

Margaret  took  herself  off,  having  learnt  the 
lesson  that  the  weak  can  give  no  help. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

SUNDERED    FRIENDS 

MARGARET  sat  on  the  lawn  at  Hurlingham 
in  great  content  with  her  surroundings, 
She  had  been  driven  down  on  the  much- 
coveted  box  seat  of  Lor.d  Vernade's  coach  to  ore 
of  the  smartest  polo-matches  of  the  season;  greet- 
ings on  her  return  to  Vanity  Fair  had  been  cordia! ; 
and  she  had  seen  many  an  admiring  or  envious  femi- 
nine glance  sent  after  the  daring  combination  of  her 
white  and  black  and  cherry-coloured  dress.  Lord 
Vernade  had  seldom  left  her  side  that  day,  and  she 
knew  that  his  presence  gave  her  more  success  in 
other  women's  eyes  than  any  Parisian  toilette. 

It  was  restoring,  to  at  least  her  vanity,  to  know 
that  he  would  not  have  left  her  for  Mrs.  Broderick 
or  any  one  else. 

Their  chairs  were  a  little  apart  from  the  group 
of  their  friends,  and  they  could  talk  freely. 

"  Are  you  all  still  under  the  rule  of  the  fascinating 
American  widow  ?  "  he  asked,  idly,  watching  Mar- 
garet's colour  deepen  as  she  answered : 

"  I  don't  know  about  being  under  her  rule,  but, 
as  it  happens,  she  turns  out  to  be  only  a  grass  widow 
after  all." 

"  Ah,  that  explains  many  things." 


SUNDERED    FRIENDS 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  it  explains  why  the  newly 
found  cousin  has  not  married  the  moneyed  lady 
instead  of  —  well,  taking  lodgings  near  her.  My 
man,  who  is  an  inveterate  gossip,  tells  me  that 
the  morals  of  the  neighbourhood  are  much  exercised 
thereby." 

Margaret's  heart  gave  a  great  leap  and  then  went 
dizzily  down.  She  sat  staring  at  a  rush  of  horse- 
men across  the  dazzling  green  of  the  field,  her  one 
thought  being  not  to  show  that  the  blow  had  gone 
home.  Her  grandmother's  virulence  she  was  used 
to  mentally  softening  down,  but  here  was  a  man 
hinting,  from  another  point  of  view,  at  the  same 
facts. 

"  But  Mr.  Brindle  shares  his  lodgings,"  she  said, 
rather  helplessly,  and  her  plea  was  greeted  with 
light  laughter. 

"  As  a  chaperon  ?  I  fear  even  your  charity  must 
abandon  that  excuse,  for  I  happened  to  pass  that 
youth  in  a  music-hall  last  evening,  and  heard  him 
say  that  his  holiday  was  over  and  that  he  was  doing 
London  correspondence  for  American  papers.  So 
your  dear  relative  has  lost  that  moral  shield,  you 
see." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  she  agreed,  listlessly ;  then,  with 
a  little  laugh : 

"  Granny  has  already  been  expounding  the  same 
theory  to  me,  only  she  takes  the  view  of  Gilbert 
being  the  victim  of  feminine  wiles,  whom  we  in 
charity  should  rescue  and  reclaim.  She  appears  to 
look  upon  me  as  the  chosen  instrument  in  my  dear 
cousin's  conversion." 

A  steely  light  flashed  in  Lord  Vernade's  gray 

329 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

eyes,  though  his  voice  was  as  deliberately  soft  as 
ever,  as  he  said : 

"  I  think  that  if  Jack  were  here  he  would  advise 
you  to  have  as  little  to  do  with  this  Gilbert  Clinch 
as  possible.  That,  I  am  sure,  would  be  a  man's 
view,  and  in  such  matters,  a  man  judges  better  than 
a  woman." 

The  animation  in  Meg's  face  answered  his  words. 
It  was  such  a  relief  to  have  her  dark  hidden  feelings 
justified  to  herself. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  she  said;  then,  with 
a  sudden  dispirited  relapse,  "  but  Granny  is  set  on 
my  keeping  friends  with  him,  you  see.  It  seems  so 
strange  that  his  coming  should  have  upset  them  so." 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly,  and  Lord  Vernade 
assented : 

"  It  does  seem  queer,"  and  tried  to  keep  any  sig- 
nificance out  of  his  voice.  His  private  opinion  of 
the  elders  of  the  family  was  of  the  most  uncompli- 
mentary character,  and  no  queer  revelation  about 
them  or  their  riches  would  have  surprised  him.  He 
himself  had  not  a  doubt  that  this  new  cousin  had 
come  on  a  blackmailing  expedition,  against  which 
the  old  lady  was  hedging.  Gilbert's  influence  over 
Margaret  had  not  been  unobserved  by  him,  and  he 
was  swift  to  seize  the  chance  of  undermining  it,  even 
with  a  tale  invented  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"  You  mustn't  let  these  people  worry  you  too 
much,"  he  said,  gently.  "  You  ought  to  stay  up  in 
town  now  as  long  as  you  can,  and  leave  them  to 
show  their  true  colours  by  themselves.  Their  sort 
always  do.  Now,  try  to  forget  all  about  them  and 
enjoy  yourself,  won't  you?" 

Through  a  mist  of  tears  the  girl  smiled  at  him, 

330 


SUNDERED    FRIENDS 

and  when  presently  they  strolled  across  the  grass 
side  by  side,  Lord  Vernade  had  a  sense  of  purpose 
achieved  in  that  half-hour's  talk. 

Through  the  following  ten  days'  London  whirl, 
Margaret  had  a  half-alarmed,  half- vindictive  con- 
sciousness of  the  trouble  ahead  when  she  should 
return  home  and  kick  over  the  traces  of  her  grand- 
mother's driving. 

While  afraid  of  the  mischief  she  might  work,  all 
her  pride,  all  that  was  best  in  her,  was  up  in  arms 
at  the  idea  of  lowering  herself  to  win  over  Gilbert 
even  while  ostracising  Mrs.  Broderick.  Perhaps 
such  feelings  were  strengthened  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  difficulty  of  the  task. 

Twice  she  was  summoned  home  and  made  ex- 
cuses, but  her  ready  money  was  slipping  away,  and 
as  she  knew  she  would  get  no  more,  she  went  off 
heavy-hearted.  As  the  time  came  nearer  she  doubted 
her  own  courage  to  oppose  the  fierce  old  woman 
who  ruled  the  whole  family. 

There  were  no  ddubts  or  misgivings,  though, 
when  at  Paddington,  her  maid,  having  picked  out 
a  carriage  in  which  sat  only  one  lady  and  turning  to 
call  the  porter,  left  her  looking  up  into  Isabel  Bro- 
derick's  quiet  eyes.  A  dawning  wistful  smile  showed 
on  the  latter's  face,  and  she  almost  timidly  leant 
forward  with  the  word : 

"Meg!" 

She  had  been  keenly  wounded  by  the  way  in 
which  Margaret  had  ignored  her  since  Jack's  de- 
parture, but  she  would  do  what  she  could  now  for 
a  reconciliation. 

The  smile,  the  appeal,  added  fuel  to  Meg's  wrath. 
In  a  blind  fury,  such  as  of  old  had  driven  her  savage 

331 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

ancestors  to  stab  and  spare  not,  she  turned  away, 
saying,  in  vibrant  tones : 

"  Never  mind,  Toovy.  Here  is  an  empty  carriage 
further  down." 

The  hour  of  travel  that  followed  through  the 
sunshiny  country  was  not  a  pleasant  one  to  either 
woman. 

Outraged  affection  and  sense  of  personal  dignity 
at  first  cost  Isabel  a  few  bitter  tears,  but  before  that 
hour  was  ended,  her  face  was  firm  again  in  its  lines 
of  composure,  and  she  knew  what  she  meant  to  do. 

Margaret  was  thankful  for  two  river  acquaint- 
ances who  got  in  at  the  last  moment,  and  kept  her 
from  thinking  what  was  to  happen  next.  They  were 
to  get  out  at  Taplow,  the  station  before  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick's,  while  she  herself  would  go  on  for  one  or 
two  more  to  get  to  the  other  side  of  the  circle  made 
by  the  river. 

"  Now  if  it  were  a  slow  train,  I  might  have  to 
change  at  Maidenhead,  and  meet  her  on  the  plat- 
form. As  it  is,  I'll  just  lean  back  till  she's  gone," 
she  said  to  herself,  not  reckoning  with  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick's  moral  courage  that  always  took  her  to  meet 
a  difficulty. 

Taplow!     Her  friends  went  cheerfully  off. 

Maidenhead!  She  sank  back  in  her  corner,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  a  fashion  paper  —  the  carriage  door 
opened,  but  still  she  did  not  look  up. 

"  Margaret,  I  have  come  to  know  what  it  all 
means.  What  have  I  done  to  be  so  treated  ?  "  Mrs. 
Broderick  stood  at  the  steps,  in  gray  travelling  dress 
and  hat,  her  face  a  little  pale  and  set,  her  steady 
eyes  fixed  on  Margaret. 

For  a  moment  the  sweetness  and  sincerity  of  her 
332 


SUNDERED    FRIENDS 

words  asserted  their  power  over  the  girl,  and  then 
—  all  the  fiercer  for  the  reaction  —  she  broke  out 
in  the  passionate  invective  of  a  lower  race. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  Wasn't  it  enough  to 
come  here  to  spy  out  the  land  for  your  lover,  before 
he  arrived  to  try  to  foist  his  illegitimacy  on  an  honest 
family?  What  does  he  want  to  blackmail  us  for, 
I  wonder?  And  you  must  pretend  to  be  so  fond 
of  me,  and  try  to  break  my  poor  Jack's  heart  —  " 
her  voice  choked  with  passion,  and  Isabel  spoke 
gravely  and  almost  pityingly. 

"  God  knows  I  have  done  none  of  these  things. 
Margaret,  my  poor  child,  whoever  has  influenced 
you  like  this  has  done  an  evil  work." 

The  guard  was  banging  the  open  doors  and  Isabel 
turned  away,  feeling  that  this  was  not  the  place  to 
say  more. 

Nothing  could  have  so  intensified  Margaret's 
wrath  as  her  attitude  of  sad,  almost  pitying,  calm, 
and  the  allusion  to  influence  seemed  the  last  straw. 

There  was  no  more  compunction  or  doubt  in  her 
attitude  toward  these  two  who  had  once  been  her 
friends. 

As  Isabel  drove  homeward,  she  let  her  pony  walk 
up  the  long  climb  of  the  hillside,  and  thought  over 
the  whole  incident,  beginning  to  realise  that  the 
girl's  taunts  were  something  more  than  an  outburst 
of  temper. 

"  Gilbert  her  lover,  for  whom  she  was  a  spy ! 
Gilbert  illegitimate,  blackmailing  his  relations ! 
The  shameful  words  brought  a  hot  glow  to  her 
cheeks  even  while  she  was  searching  her  mind  for 
their  origin  and  reason.  And  then  the  word 
"  blackmail,"  striking  so  evidently  a  note  of  fear, 

333 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

suggested  an  answer.  From  that  moment  she  never 
doubted  that  the  old  lady,  if  not  her  son,  had  cause 
to  fear  and  hate  Gilbert.  Even  while  outraged  by 
Margaret's  treatment,  she  felt  a  deep  pity  for  the 
nature  that  could  allow  itself  to  be  thus  swayed,  and 
thinking  that  Gilbert's  best  chance  of  happiness  lay 
in  a  marriage  with  Margaret,  hoped  that,  even  yet, 
it  might  not  come  to  a  quarrel  between  them. 

Perhaps  what  hurt  her  the  most,  was  the  sense 
of  shame  with  which  she  thought  of  her  own  impru- 
dence in  letting  Gilbert  settle  so  near  her.  It  had 
been  her  weakness  in  craving  his  presence  which,  she 
told  herself,  had  wrought  the  harm.  She  should  not 
have  returned  here  from  Paris  in  the  spring.  She 
would  go  away  now,  at  once,  only  it  would  seem 
like  a  confession  of  guilt.  That  evening  when  she 
was  sitting  in  the  twilight  of  the  studio,  Gilbert 
came,  as  was  his  habit,  and  sat  idly  talking. 

Isabel  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  was  glad  of 
the  shadows  to  hide  a  new  shyness,  the  reflex  action 
of  those  cruel  words. 

"  I  am  in  more  need  than  usual  of  the  restfulness 
of  your  presence,"  he  said,  and  how  grateful  were 
such  words  to  her,  "  for  I  have  undergone  one  of 
those  awesome  inspections  of  my  venerable  step- 
grandmother's." 

"Inspections?"  she  asked,  absently,  her  mind 
harping  back  to  the  same  old  words. 

"  I  can  call  them  nothing  else.  Her  poor  old 
companion  writes  a  little  note  demanding  my  pres- 
ence, and  I  go  and  sit  spellbound  under  a  series 
of  artful  questions  and  reminiscences  arranged  to 
draw  out  mine,  and  when  she  stops  to  breathe  her 
son  takes  it  up.  What  do  they  want,  I  wonder  ?  " 

S34 


SUNDERED    FRIENDS 

"  I  expect  they  are  trying  to  find  out  what  you 
want,"  Isabel  guessed,  going  very  near  the  truth. 

"  Well,  I  shall  soon  show  them  that  I  want  noth- 
ing. I  feel  sure  it  would  be  folly  to  waste  my  time 
and  money  in  a  sordid  struggle  for  more  than  I 
need.  These  people  have,  in  their  own  way,  treated 
me  well.  Let  them  keep  what  they  have  always 
had.  My  share  shall  be  the  Moorings  and  its 
treasure-trove.  I  can  see  now  that  the  very  thought 
of  the  thing  has  taken  the  life  out  of  my  work.  I 
must  put  it  all  aside  and  go  home  and  get  into 
harness  again." 

An  involuntary  joy  took  possession  of  Isabel,  to 
be  immediately  shadowed  by  the  thought  of  parting. 
She  was  silent  for  fear  of  betraying  either  feeling, 
or  of  telling  him  what  she  had  resolved  to  keep  to 
herself. 

"  All  that  I  mind  is  the  leaving  you  behind,"  Gil- 
bert said,  in  a  strained  tone,  that  might  have  told 
any  woman  she  was  loved.  "  Is  there  no  chance 
of  your  coming  home  soon  ?  " 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot ! "  she  almost  whispered. 
Then  in  a  quieter  fashion,  "  I  shall  give  up  this  place 
in  September.  It  served  my  purpose  for  solitary 
work,  but  now  I  need  more  of  an  art  atmosphere. 
I  shall  spend  the  winter  in  Paris.  I  ought  to  be  very 
thankful  that  the  wish  to  work  has  come  back. 
I  must  not  let  it  go  again.  It  is  all  I  have." 

It  was  not  often  that  she  spoke  of  her  own  deso- 
late life,  and  with  the  words  a  silence  of  endured 
renunciation  fell  upon  them  both. 

Presently  Gilbert  roused  himself  from  it  to  say : 

"  I  shall  leave  here  in  a  day  or  two.  To-morrow 
is  Cookham  Regatta :  come  with  me  in  the  canoe  for 

335 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

a  last  day  on  this  English  river.    Who  knows  when 
we  shall  have  another  together?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go,"  Isabel  answered,  gently, 
claiming  that  one  day  from  the  Fates,  and  yet  with 
an  inward  misgiving  lest  Margaret  should  be  there. 


336 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

COOKHAM    REGATTA 

THE  next  day  was  still  and  gray  with  a  pre- 
monition of  the  early  English  autumn  in  the 
damp  air.     It  was  the  breaking  of  a  long 
drought,  and  the  tawny  stretches  of  field  and  the 
yellowing  foliage  showed  its  results.     The  river- 
banks  alone  were  green  and  luxuriant. 

The  quiet  perfection  of  Mrs.  Broderick's  gray 
cloth  dress  and  black  hat  would  have  caught  any 
woman's  eye,  though  a  man's  might  have  noticed 
a  pale  intensity  that  gave  force  to  her  beauty.  She 
had  left  the  paddling  to  Gilbert  and,  seated  low  in 
the  canoe,  could  look  up  at  him  as  they  talked. 
What  did  they  talk  of,  she  wondered  afterward,  for 
through  all  speech  "  the  last  time,  the  last  time  " 
was  repeating  itself  in  her  brain. 

They  had  not  started  until  after  lunch,  and  reach- 
ing the  course  when  the  regatta  was  in  full  swing, 
had  to  draw  hastily  aside  up  against  an  electric 
launch  to  make  room  for  a  race. 

"  How  the  colours  vibrate  under  this  gray  sky," 
Isabel  said,  with  all  an  artist's  pleasure  in  the  sight. 

No  answer  coming  from  him,  she  looked  up  to 
see  him  pulling  off  his  cap  with  a  friendly  smile  up 
at  the  launch  just  above  them. 

337 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Her  gaze  following  his  took  in  a  background  of 
gaily  dressed  lively  groups  and,  seated  on  the  deck 
just  above  Gilbert's  shoulder  with  Lord  Vernade 
lounging  beside  her,  the  figure  of  Margaret  in  her 
favourite  white  and  red  colours. 

Watching  for  what  was  coming,  she  saw  Gilbert's 
smile  fade  before  the  hard  stare  of  his  cousin's 
hostile  eyes,  saw  the  angry  flush  in  her  face  as  Lord 
Vernade  said  something  in  a  low  voice,  at  which 
she  laughed  contemptuously. 

Gilbert  was  now  looking  before  him  down  the 
course  with  a  fixed  and  grim  expression,  his  kneel- 
ing figure  tense  with  the  strain  he  was  putting  on 
himself. 

On  one  of  these  silences  of  the  crowd  that  marks 
the  waiting  for  a  race,  came  the  familiar  sound 
of  Margaret's  voice: 

"  As  Granny  says,  one  can  never  tell  with  Ameri- 
cans. In  any  case,  I  am  not  responsible  for  Jack's 
taste." 

Gilbert  looked  down  into  Mrs.  Broderick's  face, 
his  sternness  softened  by  anxiety. 

"  I  think  that  in  a  moment  I  can  move  on  and  find 
you  a  pleasanter  place,"  he  said,  in  even  tones. 

As  the  race  swept  by,  he  followed,  without  any 
sign  of  haste,  guiding  the  canoe  onward  through  the 
phantasmagoric  pageant  of  flower-decked  house- 
boats, launches,  and  boats  full  of  gay  dresses  and 
gayer  blazers,  and  multi-coloured  parasols. 

Presently  they  were  beyond  the  thickest  throng 
of  craft,  and  Gilbert  checked  the  canoe  by  an 
overhanging  bank. 

"  You  shall  have  tea  here  in  the  quiet.    I  cannot 


338 


COOKHAM    REGATTA 

bear  to  think  that  I  should  have  taken  you  in  the 
way  of  such  insult,"  he  said,  with  troubled  eyes. 

Even  now  Isabel  did  not  see  that  his  thought 
was  for  her  alone,  and  tried  to  soothe  the  hurt 
Margaret  had  given  him. 

"  It  does  not  matter  for  me,  only  —  I  am  so  sorry 
for  her.  She  has  too  much  good  in  her  to  be  so 
influenced  by  some  lower  nature.  I  thought  it  was 
that  dreadful  old  woman,  but  now  I  am  afraid  it 
is  Lord  Vernade.  Oh,  Gilbert,  can  nothing  be  done 
to  win  her  back  again  ?  " 

His  face  did  not  soften  under  her  appeal. 

"  I  do  not  care  who  has  influenced  her.  After 
the  way  in  which  she  has  treated  you  I  never  wish 
to  see  her  again,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

His  words  were  sweet  to  her,  though  she  still 
thought  it  was  only  his  chivalry  that  was  aroused. 

"  You  must  not  say  that.  I  could  not  bear  to 
know  that  you  two  had  been  separated  through  me !  " 
she  protested,  her  eyes  filling  with  helpless  tears. 

"  Separated !  "  He  was  leaning  forward,  his  face 
gray  with  the  strain  of  repressed  passion.  "  Isabel, 
isn't  that  a  cruel  word  to  use  to  me?  Can  it  have 
any  meaning  to  us,  save  where  you  and  I  are  con- 
cerned ?  Haven't  I  tasted  the  full  bitterness  of  the 
cup?  Am  not  I  going  into  exile  again,  and  yet 
you  talk  to  me  of  separation  from  her! " 

She  sat  looking  up  at  him  with  dilated  eyes,  and 
as  his  full  meaning  came  to  her,  a  beautiful  light 
dawned  upon  her  face. 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten,  Gilbert,"  she 
whispered. 

"  Forgotten !     And  I  suppose  you  were  glad 
should  be  so,  when  this  English  boy  took  my  place 

339 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

with  you !  "  he  said,  bitterly,  all  unselfish  restraint 
lost  in  elemental  passion. 

"The  English  boy?  Jack  Nugent-Barr,  you 
mean  ?  He  never  took  your  place.  There  was  never 
any  one  save  you,  Gilbert."  Her  words  had  the 
candour,  the  conviction  of  those  spoken  at  life's 
end,  when  nothing  remains  save  the  great  realities. 

For  a  time  they  sat  looking  into  each  other's  faces, 
satisfying  their  long  heart-hunger,  then  Isabel's  eyes 
grew  wistful. 

"  It  is  still  separation,"  she  murmured,  deprecat- 
ingly. 

'  You  are  not  to  think  of  that  now.  To-day  is 
the  gift  of  the  gods,  and  we  are  rich,"  was  Gilbert's 
brave  answer.  "  Let  us  get  out  and  sit  on  the  bank. 
There,  can  you  step  now  ?  " 

How  long  they  sat  in  a  little  grassy  patch  among 
the  willow  bushes,  as  alone,  for  all  the  passing  craft, 
as  Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise,  neither  could  have 
told.  At  first  they  talked  but  little,  content  with 
each  other's  presence. 

"Nothing  matters  so  much  now,  does  it?"  she 
asked,  at  length.  "  I  mean  things  like  this  after- 
noon? "  As  she  spoke  she  saw  the  lines  of  Gilbert's 
mouth  harden. 

"  Some  things  matter  more,"  he  said,  decisively. 
"  Such  as  the  way  you  were  treated  just  now.  Last 
night  you  said  you  would  stay  on  over  here,  but 
now  you  must  see  that  I  cannot  leave  you  here  alone. 
You  must  be  where  I  can  look  after  you." 

He  was  lying  stretched  on  the  grass,  propped  on 
one  elbow  to  look  up  at  her,  as  she  sat  leaning  against 
a  tree-trunk. 


340 


COOKHAM    REGATTA 

There  was  an  appeal  under  the  resolution  of  his 
words,  and  the  pain  in  her  voice  answered  it. 

"  All  the  more  I  must  stay  behind.  Can't  you 
see  that  distance  is  the  easiest  thing  that  separates 
us?  To  be  near  each  other  would  be  too  hard." 

"  And  must  it  always  be  so  ?  When  we  grow 
old  and  we  are  lonely  —  "  he  said,  hoarsely. 

"  Believe  me,  it  is  better  to  wait  and  hope,  apart. 
See  how  near  every-day  life  was  to  estranging  us," 
she  pleaded. 

"  Never  estranging,  though  that  girl  made  me 
believe  you  had  acknowledged  you  cared  for  her 
brother.  But,"  he  persisted,  "  at  least  come  out 
home  a  few  weeks  later  than  I  do.  We  need  not 
be  in  the  same  city,  but  still  we  should  be  within 
reach  of  each  other." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  There  is  one  reason  alone  that  would  make  me 
stay  on  here  now."  A  painful  colour  stained  her  face, 
and  she  clasped  her  hands  nervously.  "  Gilbert, 
I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  but  I  see  that  you  must 
know  now.  I  understand  the  reason  of  Margaret's 
behaviour  to-day."  Bravely  and  simply  she  told  him 
the  story  of  the  day  before,  ending  with,  "  You  see 
how  all  this  follows  on  the  old  woman's  arrival.  She 
must  have  some  good  cause  for  hating  you  so." 

"  She  shall  have  more  cause  yet  before  she  is  done 
with  me,"  he  said,  with  a  calm  more  portentous  than 
any  anger.  M 

"  You  understand  what  this  inevitably  leads  to? 
he  asked,  then  seeing  her  puzzled  look,  "  I  mean  that 
now  I  have  no  choice  but  to  do  my  best  for  my 
mother's  sake,  for  yours,  to  prove  the  later  will. 
shall  write  to  my  uncle  to-night,  giving  him  warning 

Ml 


of  what  I  mean  to  do.  Then  I  shall  start  at  once 
to  go  and  try  to  prove  the  will  in  Halifax.  There 
will  be  a  big  fight,  I  suppose,  but  I  shall  spend  every 
penny  of  my  treasure-trove  before  I  am  beaten. 
I  have  no  doubts  as  to  the  right  now.  Only  I  can- 
not bear  to  leave  you  here  alone." 

"  No  one  can  hurt  me,"  she  said,  with  a  brave 
attempt  at  a  laugh ;  then,  "  Don't  you  see  that  I 
must  stay  on  after  you  go  and  live  down  their  story? 
Do  you  know,"  with  a  sudden  intuition,  "  I  believe 
it  was  Lord  Vernade  who  started  it  to  set  Margaret 
against  me,  while  the  old  woman  told  her  that 
about  your  mother." 

"  A  pretty  pair,"  he  commented,  grimly. 

"  A  pretty  pair  to  have  an  influence  over  a  young 
girl,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  And  she  has  such  a  warm- 
hearted, open  nature  when  she  has  a  chance.  I 
cannot  be  angry  with  the  poor  girl,  I  am  so  sorry 
for  her." 

"  Well,  you  may  be  sorry  for  her  if  you  like,  as 
long  as  you  don't  bestow  too  much  sympathy  on  her 
brother,"  he  said. 

"  Poor  Jack !  He  will  be  going  to  South  Africa 
soon,  I  suppose." 

"  Lucky  for  him  to  get  away  from  such  relations ! 
No,  I  can  feel  no  Christian  charity  for  any  of  them 
to-day.  But,  good  heavens,  I  have  forgotten  all 
about  making  your  tea,  and  there  is  the  sun  setting, 
and  the  paddle  up-stream  will  take  an  hour  or  so. 
What  a  fool  I  am !  " 

Isabel  laughed  out  in  a  fashion  he  had  not  heard 
since  her  child's  death. 

"  Never  mind,  there  is  no  mist  to-night  and  we 
needn't  hurry.  We'll  make  it  now." 

342 


COOKHAM    REGATTA 

Like  two  children  they  picnicked  in  the  evening 
gray,  regardless  of  coming  separation  and  strife, 
paddling  home  afterward  through  a  wonderful  blue- 
green  world  lit  with  fiery  rays  of  Japanese  lanterns 
and  coloured  lights,  the  end  of  the  regatta  festivity. 

"  Let  me  write  the  letter  to  my  uncle  here,  and 
then  you  can  read  it,"  Gilbert  said,  after  their  late 
supper  that  evening.  And  Isabel  sat  watching  the 
lamplight  on  his  head  as  he  wrote  it. 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  is  all  you  can  say,"  she  said, 
thoughtfully,  after  reading  it. 

Through  all  that  day  of  revived  trust,  he  had 
scarcely  even  held  her  hand  longer  than  usual,  but 
now,  as  they  stood  face  to  face  to  say  good-night, 
he  whitened  with  passion. 

"  Must  I  go  ?  "  he  said,  hoarsely. 

She  too  was  pale,  and  her  breath  came  quickly. 

"Yes,  yes,  go!  Oh,  please  go!"  she  cried,  in 
distress. 

Carried  out  of  all  self-control,  he  seized  her  in 
his  arms,  pressing  her  to  him  with  hot  kisses. 

For  a  space  she  yielded,  and  then,  shoving  him 
off  with  her  two  hands  on  his  chest,  she  panted : 

"  Gilbert,  will  you  do  one  thing  out  of  your  love 
for  me?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Say  good-bye  now.  We  have  had  our  one  day. 
We  must  not  have  more.  Say  good-bye  now,  and  go 
to  London  in  the  morning.  You  can  write  me  all 
there  is  to  say,  but  —  we  must  not  be  together  now." 

One  long  look  showed  him  her  firmness. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go.  Perhaps  it's  best.  But  you  must 
make  me  a  promise.  If  —  if  he  should  die,  you  will 
let  me  know  at  once  that  I  may  come." 

MI 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

"  Yes,  I  promise.  Oh,  my  love,  my  love! "  and 
she  clung  to  him  sobbing. 

"  Go  now,"  she  said,  presently,  loosening  his  hold 
with  her  hands,  and  he  turned  and  went. 


344 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

JACK    GOES   SOLDIERING 

HOME    seemed    gloomier    than    ever   when 
Margaret  returned  there  fresh  from  London 
gaieties.     She  had  no  intention  of  telling 
any  one  of  her  quarrel  with  Isabel,  but  all  the  same, 
she  had  an  uncomfortable  conviction  that  it  would 
leak  out  sooner  or  later  and  get  her  into  a  scrape. 

She  found  her  mother  sitting  over  a  fire,  the  usual 
fancy-work  in  her  hands. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  bazaar  to  buy  a  reredos  for 
Hugh  Stayner's  church,  and  I  promised  to  send  him 
a  box,"  she  announced,  after  greeting  her  daughter. 

Showing  no  interest  in  this  important  piece  of 
news,  Margaret  said : 

"  Barnes  told  me  that  Granny  is  ill.  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell."  her  mother  said,  with  the 
aggrieved  air  of  the  family  invalid  with  encroached- 
upon  rights.  "  She  is  nervous  and  fretful  enough 
for  anything.  She  has  sent  Madame  Estivalet  on  a 
visit  to  her  sister  and  will  hardly  let  Ellen  Sieyert 
out  of  her  sight.  I  can  get  no  use  of  her  at  all." 

Even  this  feeble  complaint  showed  that  the  reins 
held  so  long  by  the  family  tyrant  were  slipping  from 
her  grasp. 

345 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

But  the  habit  of  years  still  proved  strong  enough 
for  her  mother  to  say,  nervously : 

"  You  had  better  go  up  and  see  her  now.  She 
won't  like  it  if  she  hears  you  are  with  me." 

With  reluctant  steps  the  girl  went,  feeling  as 
though  those  sharp  eyes  would  read  the  secret  of 
her  disobedience  to  her  implied  orders. 

She  was  not  experienced  enough  to  note  the  new 
feebleness  in  the  huddled  figure,  the  something  like 
fear  in  the  eyes  that  followed  her  about  the  room. 
There  was  the  same  old  delight  though  in  the  ac- 
count of  Margaret's  social  successes,  the  same  keen 
questioning  as  to  what  she  had  done. 

"  Gilbert  Clinch  will  be  glad  that  you  are  back. 
He  was  here  yesterday  and  seemed  dull.  You  must 
get  some  people  together  for  him.  Tennis  or  picnics 
or  something.  There's  Cookham  Regatta  to-mor- 
row. I  suppose  you're  going  to  that  ?  Why  not  take 
him?" 

"  The  Vernades  are  coming  down  for  it  with  a 
party.  Their  launch  calls  for  me  on  the  way  to 
meet  them  at  Taplow.  I  couldn't  very  well  ask 
them  to  take  a  stranger,"  Margaret  pleaded,  thank- 
ful for  the  excuse. 

"  You  could  manage  it  fast  enough  if  you  chose. 
Well,  then,  you  must  do  something  for  him  the  next 
day.  And  listen,  Meg,"  leaning  forward  to  lay 
a  bony  grasp  on  her  arm,  "  the  solicitor  is  coming 
down  to-morrow  to  see  about  altering  my  will  for 
you  —  but  mind  you  don't  tell  your  father,"  she 
added,  in  a  whisper. 

"  All  right,  Granny.  Just  as  you  like,"  Meg 
agreed,  disquieted  by  her  own  satisfaction  in  the 
news.  That  night  she  was  startled  from  sleep  by 

346 


JACK    GOES    SOLDIERING 

sounds  like  distant  sobs  and  groans,  which  aroused 
a  latent  element  of  imaginative  terrors.  She  lay 
for  some  time  afraid  to  strike  a  light,  chilled  with 
fear,  though  healthy  fatigue  at  last  conquered,  and 
she  slept  long  and  heavily. 

She  awoke  to  find  the  cheerful  daylight  streaming 
in,  and  Ellen  Sievert's  comfortable  face  looking 
down  upon  her. 

"  Bless  me,  child,  but  you  slept  late,"  that  worthy 
said. 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  stretching  her  arms  above  her 
head.  "  Oh,  Ellen,  there  were  such  strange  noises 
last  night!  I  was  sure  the  wicked  old  ghost  must 
be  walking  about.  Did  you  hear  anything?  " 

"  Hush,  child,  hush ! "  Ellen  said,  nervously. 
"  Don't  talk  about  ghosts !  Yes,  I  heard  the  noises 
all  right.  It  was  your  grandma,  who's  taken  to 
having  queer  fits  at  night,  waking  up  moaning  and 
screaming  like  a  child.  She  won't  be  left  alone, 
keeping  me  up  half  the  night  sometimes.  It's 
very  wearing." 

"  It's  very  unpleasant,"  Margaret  agreed. 

The  next  day,  however,  the  old  lady  roused  into 
something  of  her  former  keenness  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  fat  little  London  solicitor. 

"  Has  she  said  nothing  to  you,  nothing  at  all 
about  what  she  is  doing?  "  Mr.  Nugent-Barr  asked 
his  daughter,  at  frequent  intervals  through  the  day. 
but  every  time  she  presented  the  same  front  of 
serene  ignorance.  She  was  far  too  astute  to  let 
fall  any  hint  of  her  grandmother's  promises; 

These  promises  had  settled  themselves  in  her 
mind,  and  she  had  now  dropped  any  mental  pre- 
tence of  not  desiring  the  riches  they  might  bring  her. 

347 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

But  she  had  not  reckoned  on  a  telegram  from 
Jack  to  say  that  he  had  obtained  the  promised  staff 
appointment  at  Cape  Town  and,  as  he  was  to  sail 
at  once,  would  have  little  more  than  a  day  with  his 
family. 

Jack  going  abroad  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  she 
almost  relieved  at  his  absence  in  her  consciousness 
of  disloyalty !  No  wonder  she  was  pale  and  restless, 
and  went  off  for  a  long  solitary  ramble. 

And  when  Jack  arrived,  it  was  to  find  the  whole 
household  in  a  commotion  over  Gilbert's  letter  an- 
nouncing the  second  will. 

Mr.  Nugent-Barr  fumed  and  fretted  with  the 
helpless  anger  of  the  weak.  His  mother  raved  at 
Margaret,  whom  she  guessed  to  be  keeping  some- 
thing to  herself  bearing  on  the  affair,  but  getting 
nothing  out  of  her,  worked  herself  up  into  such 
a  state  that  she  had  to  be  quieted  with  a  soothing 
draught. 

Margaret  paid  little  attention  to  either  of  them, 
being  absorbed  in  the  fighting  instinct  aroused  in 
her  by  the  first  threat  to  the  money  that  she  now 
knew  she  loved.  She  had  wanted  Gilbert  Clinch  to 
think  well  of  her,  to  idealise  her,  had  suffered  in 
his  liegemanship  to  Mrs.  Broderick,  had  hated  him 
with  the  hatred  of  futile  jealousy,  but  now  all  these 
feelings  were  merged  in  the  frank  enmity  of  greed. 

Jack,  full  of  his  new  life,  brought  a  breath  of  the 
healthy  outside  world  into  the  disturbed  household. 
At  first  sight  of  his  familiar  face,  Meg  felt  all  evil 
thoughts  fall  away  in  the  joy  of  his  presence  — 
the  old  brother  and  sister  comradeship  that  can  sur- 
vive so  much.  She  saw  that  the  boyishness  was 
gone,  though  the  manhood  was  as  frankly  and 

348 


JACK    GOES    SOLDIERING 

sturdily  honest  as  ever.  The  new  gravity  sat  well 
on  his  sunburnt  face  as  he  listened  quietly  to  his 
father's  excited  story. 

"  It  certainly  doesn't  seem  what  I  would  have 
expected  of  him,"  Jack  said,  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
'  to  come  to  us  and  be  treated  as  a  relation  and  then 
all  of  a  sudden  to  fire  this  bomb  at  us  in  a  distinctly 
hostile  fashion.  And  you  say  that  he  was  here  to 
dinner  two  or  three  days  ago?  Well,  I'm  dis- 
appointed in  him." 

"  He'll  learn  that  advancing  claims  is  a  different 
matter  to  getting  the  money.  He  cannot  have  the 
capital  for  a  long  fight  such  as,  if  the  worst  came, 
we  should  make  of  it." 

"  Unless  he  has  some  one  backing  him  up,"  Meg 
put  in.  Jack  gave  her  a  quick  glance,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Look  here,  Meg,  what  did  you  mean  by  that 
about  some  one  backing  Gilbert  up?"  Jack  asked, 
when  presently  they  were  alone  together  on  the 
terrace. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  it  was  just  a  guess,"  she 
answered,  evasively.  She  had  already  repented  the 
speech. 

"  I  was  afraid  —  though  you  could  have  hardly 
meant  Mrs.  Broderick,"  he  said,  jerking  an  idle 
pebble  toward  a  swan  among  the  reeds. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  agreed,  hastily.  She  felt  that  what- 
ever happened  she  must  part  good  friends  with  Jack, 
but  how  she  hated  the  woman  whom  she  felt  to  be 
in  some  measure  the  cause  of  his  going. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  her  lately  ? "  he 
asked,  still  intent  on  the  swans. 

"  No,  not  lately.    You  see,  I've  been  in  town  for 

349 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

a  fortnight  and  —  well,  I  had  a  feeling  as  though 
she  didn't  want  me  to  come  much.  She  always 
seemed  to  be  busy  and  —  perhaps  it  was  this  thing 
that  made  a  difference." 

"  Why  should  it  ?  "  was  his  brusque  question. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  they  are  old  friends."  She 
had  no  courage  to  imply  more. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand  it  at  all,"  he  said, 
moodily.  "  I  could  have  sworn  that  he  was  an 
honest  man,  and  I'm  half  inclined  to  believe  him  so 
still.  I  shall  try  to  get  my  father  to  have  a  meeting 
with  him  in  town  before  he  goes  to  America.  You 
see,  Meg,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "  if  that  second  will 
should  chance  to  be  genuine  we  have  no  right  to 
fight  him  down  through  sheer  power  of  money." 

Meg  felt  like  a  child  who  sees  its  shining  toys 
being  withdrawn  from  its  grasp. 

"  But  it  would  be  a  third  of  all  that  we  have," 
she  protested. 

"  What  does  that  matter  if  we  had  no  right  to 
it?  We  should  even  then  have  plenty  left.  Let's 
try,  Meg,  never  to  get  like  my  father  and  the  old 
woman.  And  look  here,"  he  went  on,  very  soberly, 
"  when  I'm  gone  be  friends  if  you  can  with  Mrs. 
Broderick  —  it  would  make  me  happier,  Meg." 

"  Yes,  Jack,"  Meg  sobbed,  for  the  moment  com- 
pletely under  his  influence. 

"  That's  a  good  girl,"  and  Jack  patted  her  on 
the  head,  and  strode  away  to  hide  his  own  feelings. 

Meg  never  knew  what  passed  between  father  and 
son,  or  whether  Jack  saw  Mrs.  Broderick  that  day. 

The  next  morning  he  went,  and  once  free  from 
the  magnetism  of  his  presence,  Meg  had  the  old 
harrowing  mixed  sensations  of  regret  and  relief. 

350 


JACK   GOES    SOLDIERING 

There  had  been  none  of  the  shadow  of  coming 
war  over  the  parting,  for  though  in  those  days  there 
was  already  talk  of  a  few  troops  going  out  to  over- 
awe the  troublesome  Transvaal  politicians,  no  one 
dreamt  that  for  more  than  two  years  Englishwomen 
were  to  watch  their  men  go  forth,  so  many  to  their 
death. 


331 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

ELLEN    SIEVERT    SPEAKS    HER    MIND 

THE  weeks  went  by  and  life  was  dull  at 
Monk's  Grange,  though  the  season  ended 
and  shooting  begun,  had  brought  neigh- 
bours back  from  town. 

Margaret  went  about  as  much  as  possible,  often 
staying  away  on  short  visits,  glad  to  escape  from 
home,  where  her  father  went  up  and  down  to  fre- 
quent interviews  with  his  town  solicitors,  returning 
to  be  closeted  for  hours  with  the  old  lady,  hours 
which  left  them  both  very  fractious. 

About  this  legal  business  they  had  both  become 
very  mysterious  to  Margaret,  a  course  which  in- 
tensely provoked  her  curiosity  and  also  worried 
her  with  a  sense  of  mistrust. 

She  had  found  out,  through  the  servants,  that 
Mrs.  Broderick  was  still  at  Heathholm,  though  since 
that  encounter  at  the  station  they  had  never  met 
each  other. 

Jack's  first  letter  had  not  cheered  her  in  its  under- 
tone of  implied  reproach. 

"  I  am  hoping  when  my  home  letters  arrive,"  he 
wrote,  "  to  hear  that  my  father  has  come  to  some 
arrangement  with  Gilbert  Clinch.  It  is  surely  just 
that  he  should  have  a  share  of  his  grandfather's 


ELLEN  SIEVERT  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

money."  And  then  he  went  on  to  say,  "  I  often 
think,  Meg,  how  solitary  you  are  at  home,  and  I 
should  be  glad  to  know  that  you  were  much  with 
Mrs.  Broderick,  who  would  be  so  good  a  friend  to 
you." 

"  And  twist  me  round  her  finger  as  she  did  him ! 
I  wonder  what  she  has  said  or  written  to  him 
about  me!  "  she  said  to  herself,  bitterly,  and  then, 
with  a  desire  to  shake  off  her  gloomy  thoughts,  she 
started  out  for  a  ramble  up  through  the  beech  woods. 

Leaving  the  highroad,  she  struck  off  by  a  stile 
into  meadows  that  were  part  of  the  Vernade  lands. 
The  corn  was  in  most  places  cut,  and  a  deep  peace 
brooded  over  the  empty  fields  under  the  western 
sunshine  and  the  long  blue-gray  shadows  of  the 
waning  day.  She  was  on  comparatively  high  land 
and  every  now  and  then  could  look  down  on  some 
shining  reach  of  the  river. 

Why  would  it  remind  her  of  that  Sunday  in  June, 
and  their  cheerful  group  ?  Was  even  her  old  friend 
the  river  going  to  recall  estranged  friends! 

It  was  with  a  pleased  sense  of  coming  companion- 
ship that  she  saw  Lord  Vernade  approaching  with 
gun  and  dogs,  evidently  returning  from  shooting. 
How  slim  and  alert  he  looked  in  his  country  dress! 
Something  that  was  almost  proprietary  pride 
warmed  her  heart  as  she  watched  him.  However 
cynical  and  lazy  his  manner  might  be,  she  knew 
that  nowhere  else  did  she  ever  find  such  subtle 
intuition  into  her  moods,  such  power  of  adaptation 
to  them.  When  with  him  she  always  felt  that  sense 
of  being  understood  which  puts  one  at  one's  best. 

As  she  went  along  Margaret  had  gathered  sprays 


353 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

of  the  fluffy  gray  clematis,  with  deep-tinted  trails 
of  brambles,  that  now  hung  loosely  from  her  grasp. 

"  Welcome,  Ophelia !  Only  not  away  to  seek 
a  watery  death  in  the  backwater,  I  trust  ?  "  he 
began. 

"  I  am  only  taking  an  aimless  stroll,"  she  said, 
and  at  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  he  gave  a  keen 
glance  of  inquiry  into  her  face. 

"  Then  you  might  be  very  nice,  and  turn  now 
and  walk  back  with  me.  You  must  turn  sooner 
or  later,  you  know." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  agreed,  and  they  paced  on 
for  a  moment  in  silence,  even  the  sound  of  his 
regular  footstep  giving  her  a  sense  of  companion- 
ship. 

"  I  only  came  down  yesterday  and  meant  to  look 
you  up  to-morrow.  And  now  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  have  a  dispirited  air.  What  is  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Times  are  dull  at  Monk's  Grange  since  Jack 
left.  Granny  is  ill,  and  her  humours  are  so  fan- 
tastic that  even  I  am  half  afraid  of  her,  and  I  never 
was  that,  you  know.  And  then  she  and  my  father 
are  in  an  awful  stew  over  business." 

"Nothing  wrong,  I  hope?"  he  asked  with  in- 
terest. It  was  a  part  of  his  scheme  of  things  that 
Margaret  should  be  a  rich  woman. 

"  It's  the  cousin,"  she  said  with  a  short  laugh. 
"  You  were  right  that  he  wanted  something.  He 
has  produced  a  later  will  of  my  grandfather's 
which  would  give  him  a  third  of  the  estate." 

"  That's  modest !  "  Lord  Vernade  commented. 
"But  your  father  will  fight  it  of  course?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  really  the  lawyers  don't  seem  to 
think  much  of  it.  He  claims  that  an  old  sailor,  who 

354 


ELLEN  SIEVERT  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

was  about  the  house  when  my  grandfather  died, 
produced  this  will  which  he  had  hidden  away  for 
eighteen  years  or  so." 

"  What  a  cock-and-bull  story !  And  are  Mr. 
Clinch  and  his  patron  saint  still  dwelling  on  the 
hilltops?" 

"  No.  That  is,  she  is  at  Heathholm,  I  believe, 
but  he  must  have  gone  away  a  day  or  so  after  we 
met  them  at  Cookham.  I  have  been  so  worried 
about  it  —  I  haven't  told  any  one  —  but  wouldn't 
it  be  dreadful  if  my  making  him  angry  had  started 
all  this?" 

"  Why,  it  must  all  have  been  a  put  up  thing  long 
before  either  of  them  ever  came  here,"  he  said  with 
conviction. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  think  so.  I  didn't  venture  to 
tell  any  one  at  home,"  she  said,  wistfully. 

This  appealing  attitude  in  the  girl  usually  so 
lazily  self-reliant  was  rousing  dangerous  forces 
in  him.  He  found  it  momentarily  harder  to  keep 
his  eyes  from  the  curve  of  her  cheek,  the  loose 
hair  that  hung  about  her  ear,  the  line  of  the  neck 
and  shoulder  under  her  tight-fitting  jacket,  and 
when  she  turned  her  languorous  eyes  to  him  the 
hot  blood  leaped  in  his  veins. 

"  Poor  little  one,"  he  said,  very  gently,  "  you 
should  be  taken  away  from  all  this  into  the  brighter 
life  that  belongs  to  you.  Think  if  only  we  were 
yachting  in  the  Mediterranean  now.  Would  you 
come  if  I  got  up  a  party  and  made  Estelle  ask  you  ? 

Her  face  had  flashed  round  to  him  transformed 
into  radiancy,  but  what  she  read  in  his  eyes  caused 
her  head  to  droop.  They  had  instinctively  paused 
by  a  stile  that  led  into  the  highroad.  He  did  not 

355 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

wait  for  her  answer  to  his  question,  but  went  on: 
"  I  always  like  to  think  of  you  with  sumptuous  sur- 
roundings, the  grande  dame  that  you  should  be. 
The  other  day,  when  I  was  down  at  Saxhurst,  I 
was  haunted  by  visions  of  what  the  house  might 
be  with  another  kind  of  mistress.  I  seemed  to  see 
you  in  the  state  drawing-rooms,  on  the  stairs  re- 
ceiving royalty  —  " 

His  voice  had  grown  hoarse,  as  though  each  word 
forced  itself  out,  and  somehow  her  hand  was  in  his, 
the  leaves  fallen  to  the  path.  She  felt  under  a  spell, 
as  if  being  swept  on  by  a  great  wind,  until  the  strain 
that  had  held  her  broke. 

"  Oh,  don't,"  she  cried,  wildly,  pulling  her  hand 
away.  "  Oh,  you  must  never  speak  to  me  like  that 
again,  please!  You  must  let  me  go  now.  We  are 
here  at  the  lodge,  and  I  want  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Cox 
about  her  chickens." 

In  silence  he  helped  her  over  the  stile,  and  it  was 
only  when  at  the  door  of  the  lodge  that  he  said, 
with  grim  self-repression :  "  I  would  not  interrupt 
such  an  important  mission  for  worlds.  Good  day," 
and  raising  his  hat,  went  off  down  the  road. 

Margaret  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  cottage  gate 
to  recover  her  equanimity.  In  the  tumult  of  various 
feelings  that  possessed  her  that  of  which  she  was 
most  conscious  was  the  fact  of  having  pained  him. 
She  could  not  help  it;  virtuous  indignation  would 
not  come  to  her  aid.  His  admiration,  and  some- 
thing which  she  had  read  in  his  eyes  that  was 
stronger  than  admiration,  had  aroused  unknown 
feelings  in  her  before  which  everything  seemed 
petty  and  mean.  If  Jack  and  Gilbert  set  a  stranger 
before  her,  there  was  still  some  one  with  whom  she 

356 


ELLEN  SIEVERT  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

counted  first,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  new  exulta- 
tion. 

It  was  a  striking  change  of  scene  to  go  in  upon 
Ellen  Sievert  having  a  friendly  cup  of  tea  with 
plump  Mrs.  Cox  by  her  cosy  fireside.  The  latter 
lady's  principal  boast  in  life  was  the  large  family 
she  had  produced  and  partly  sent  out  into  the  world. 

It  was  a  great  thing  to  have  a  listener  to  tales 
of  this  girl's  welfare  in  service,  or  that  son's  doings 
in  the  army,  and  Ellen  made  the  best  of  listeners 
because  she  had  no  desire  to  narrate  her  own  experi- 
ences. She  had,  after  a  short  time  in  England, 
decided  to  keep  her  Canadian  origin  a  secret,  and 
called  herself  Scotch,  not  considering  it  likely  that 
she  would  fall  in  with  any  of  that  nationality,  and 
remembering  that  her  mother  had  been  of  Scotch 
origin. 

"  Them  English  always  turns  up  their  noses  at 
any  one  who's  seen  more  of  the  world  than  they 
have,  and  as  far  as  I  can  tell,  they  don't  seem  to 
know  the  difference  between  me  and  a  Yankee  any- 
way," she  had  said  to  herself,  veiling  her  respect- 
able past  with  a  secrecy  usually  reserved  for  a  more 
varied  one. 

The  ample  form  of  the  hostess  fluttered  a  greet- 
ing, but  the  absence  of  a  smile  on  Ellen's  face  re- 
minded Margaret  that  the  window  where  the  two 
cronies  were  sitting  looked  down  the  field-path  by 
which  she  had  come.  Was  it  possible  that  she  had 
a  sense  of  shame  under  her  nurse's  gaze? 

"  Don't  disturb  yourselves  when  you  are  having 
a  cosy  chat ! "  she  said,  airily.  "  I  am  sure  that 
Mrs.  Sievert  needs  a  little  cheering  up.  Mrs.  Cox. 
after  the  time  she  has  had  lately  nursing  my  grand- 

357 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

mother.  I  just  ran  in  to  ask  you  when  you  can  let 
us  have  those  chickens.  My  mother  was  talking 
about  them  this  morning." 

'  'Deed  and,  miss,  the  housekeeper  sent  down  for 
them  three  days  ago,"  Mrs.  Cox  protested,  and 
Ellen's  inexorable  eye  seemed  to  rend  her  excuse  to 
tatters,  and  ask  what  she  had  to  do  with  the  house- 
hold larder. 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  I  won't  disturb  you  any  longer," 
she  said,  but  she  was  not  destined  to  get  off  with- 
out a  chaperon. 

"  I  must  be  getting  along  home  myself,  miss,  for 
I  promised  Sarah  the  housemaid  as  I  wouldn't  be 
more  than  an  hour,  and  I  guess  it's  near  that  now, 
and,  poor  silly  thing,  she  always  gets  nervous  when 
she's  sitting  alone  in  the  old  lady's  dressing-room, 
though  why  she  should  —  well,  at  any  rate,  miss,  if 
you  don't  mind,  I'll  come  along  with  you,"  said 
Ellen,  somewhat  stiffly. 

"  All  right,  nurse,"  Margaret  replied,  feeling 
much  as  she  did  when,  as  a  child,  she  had  inked  her 
pinafore,  and  knew  she  would  be  scolded  for  it. 

"  When  I  first  sees  you  coming  down  through 
the  fields,  miss,"  Ellen  began,  in  a  mildly  con- 
versational tone,  "  I  thought  as  how  I  wished  the 
gentleman  with  you  might  be  your  cousin  instead 
of  that  Lord  Vernade." 

Ignoring  the  disapproving  accent  on  "that," 
Margaret  answered,  sharply: 

"  Didn't  Granny  tell  you  that  Mr.  Clinch  had 
gone  back  to  America?  She  would  have,  if  she 
had  known  how  much  interest  you  took  in  him." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  I  take  an  interest  in  him, 
when  I  played  and  went  to  school  with  his  mother 

358 


ELLEN  SIEVERT  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

away  off  there  by  the  La  Have,  that  maybe  I'll  never 
see  again,  and  nobody  to  be  sorry  neither,"  came 
with  a  sniff  that  sounded  tearful,  "  but  dead  or  alive, 
Miss  Meg,  indeed  I'd  never  be  happy  to  be  knowing 
you  to  be  walking  round  the  country  with  them  as 
isn't  fit  company  for  no  decent  girl,  lady  or  no  lady. 
Just  listen  to  me,  my  dear,  while  I  tell  you  what 
happened  —  "  In  her  earnestness  she  laid  a  tremu- 
lous hand  on  the  arm  of  the  girl,  who  shook  it  off 
in  a  gust  of  passion. 

"  There's  your  way  to  the  house,"  Margaret  said, 
pointing  to  the  path  that  led  to  the  servants'  en- 
trance, "  I  shall  take  this  one,"  and  she  hurried  off, 
leaving  the  old  woman  shedding  the  few  slow  tears 
of  age. 


359 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

IN    THE   DAY   OF   TEMPTATION 

THE  autumn  and  the  war  had  come,  and  Meg 
was  in  a  panic  of  an  unfamiliar  dread.  She 
would  start  up  at  night  with  visions  of  dark 
hillsides  on  which  lay  motionless  figures,  one  mo- 
tionless figure ;  visions  of  hospital  tents  and  a  white 
face  turned  up  toward  a  rough  attendant.  Imagi- 
nation at  such  times  is  a  woman's  worst  foe,  and 
of  imagination  poor  Meg  had  plenty. 

Living  under  such  a  strain,  her  visits  to  her 
grandmother's  room  became  daily  a  greater  ordeal. 
She  never  could  tell  what  irrelevantly  keen  question 
might  not  pierce  her  armour. 

One  day  the  old  lady  was  especially  maddening. 

"  Jack  was  always  unlucky,  he  will  be  sure  to  get 
wounded.  When  he  was  a  boy  and  fell  from  a  tree, 
he  always  broke  an  arm  or  leg,"  she  soliloquised, 
"  and  when  he  is  wounded  "  —  Meg  could  have 
screamed  —  "I  wonder  if  that  American  woman 
will  go  out  and  nurse  him.  Do  you  know  if  she 
has  followed  him  out  there?"  she  asked,  imperi- 
ously. 

"  No,  Granny,  why  should  she?  "  came  the  listless 
answer. 

"  Why  should  she  ?    Because  she  knows  he  is  a 

360 


IN     THE     DAY    OF    TEMPTATION 

fool  and,  if  she  told  him  to,  would  give  up  everything 
to  his  cousin.  But  he  hasn't  got  it  to  give,"  she 
chuckled.  "  He  tried  the  wrong  person  when  he 
tried  to  make  my  son  loosen  his  grip  on  money. 
Meg!" 

"Yes,  Granny?" 

"  Promise  me  that  when  I  die,  and  you  have 
my  money,  you  won't  let  Jack  have  any  of  it,  or 
he'll  give  it  to  that  son  of  Susan  Bauer's.  Promise 
me!" 

"  I  can't  promise  not  to  give  anything  to  Jack." 

"  You  must !  You  shall !  Or  I'll  leave  it  all  to 
your  father!  He  won't  give  any  of  it  away.  Meg. 
if  this  man  takes  away  all  our  money  you  will  be 
sorry  you  did  not  try  to  marry  him.  Oh,  I  know 
you  didn't  try,  and  that  you  offended  him  and  made 
him  angry !  " 

"  What  makes  you  say  so,  Granny  ?  "  came  in  a 
feeble  protest. 

"  Oh,  I  know  things.  I  sit  here  and  piece  them 
together  like  a  puzzle  until  they  come  out  clear. 
But  listen  now,"  and  a  tragic  eagerness  came  into 
the  weird  figure,  "  we  made  a  mistake  in  letting 
the  Ripamonti  marriage  fall  through.  We'll  send 
for  Estivalet  and  she  can  write  to  the  mother.  They 
don't  really  want  so  big  a  '  dot.'  And  then  there's 
Tack  —  he  can  be  provided  for  by  marrying  Tommy 
Curtis." 

In  spite  of  her  growing  uneasiness.  Meg  gave  a 
cynical  laugh. 

"Tommy  Curtis  has  electrified  her  family  by 
announcing  her  intention  of  providing  for  Mr. 
Brindle.  He  sailed  for  South  Africa  yesterday,  and 
it  seems  that  they  were  secretly  married  the  day 

361 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

before.  Father  had  an  explosive  letter  this  morning 
saying  that  it  was  all  our  fault." 

"  Fools !  That  will  be  a  nice  dose  for  their  family 
pride !  "  the  old  woman  snapped,  vindictively.  She 
had  always  hated  her  daughter-in-law's  aristocratic 
relations.  "  But  now  go  over  to  the  table  and  write 
to  Estivalet  to  come  home  and  start  this  Ripamonti 
business  again." 

"  No,  Granny,  I  won't,"  Meg  said,  decisively. 
"  I  would  never  marry  that  great  big  prize-fighter 
of  a  man.  And  why  should  I  ?  What  is  it  you  are 
afraid  of?  It  looks  as  though  you  knew  that  this 
will  must  be  genuine  —  " 

A  fierce  cry  from  her  grandmother  interrupted 
her. 

"  How  dare  you  say  I  am  afraid  of  him,  you 
wicked  girl!  If  you  knew  more  of  the  world  you 
would  understand  what  a  misfortune  to  a  family 
the  flimsiest  claims  boldly  pushed  can  be.  Look 
at  the  Tichbourne  family,  all  but  ruined  years  ago 
by  an  Australian  butcher.  No,  your  grandfather 
was  a  tyrant,  but  never  a  fool  to  go  making  con- 
fusion with  wills.  But  old  Isaac,  and  the  wind  that 
night  —  "  her  voice  rose  into  a  scream,  and  Ellen 
appeared  at  the  door  with  a  warning  glance  at  the 
girl. 

"  Better  let  her  be  quiet  and  go  away  to  your 
ma  now,  child.  It's  more  healthy  company  for  you." 

Margaret  lost  no  time  in  leaving  the  room,  but 
some  reluctant  attraction  made  her  pause  in  the 
dressing-room  and  seat  herself  in  a  high-backed 
armchair  that  stood  turned  from  the  door  near  an 
open  window.  The  south  wind  blew  in  softly  from 
the  river,  and  the  distant  sound  of  a  railway  whistle, 


IN     THE     DAY    OF    TEMPTATION 

the  measured  clank  of  oars  soothed  her  with  the 
consciousness  of  a  saner,  brighter  world  outside. 

Within  the  bedroom  her  grandmother's  wails 
were  gradually  yielding  to  Ellen's  soothing,  as  might 
those  of  a  frightened  child. 

"  There  now,  there,"  she  heard  Ellen  saying, 
"  let  me  put  some  cologne  on  your  head,  that'll 
make  you  feel  better,  and  just  take  a  little  sip  of 
this.  You  don't  want  to  go  to  sleep,  and  you  want 
to  talk,  do  you?  I'll  talk,  if  you  like.  I've  only 
been  a  poor  working  woman  this  many  a  day  since 
my  brother-in-law  went  and  lost  my  husband's  sav- 
ings in  that  plaguey  gold  mine,  but  I  come  of  just 
as  good  old  Lunenburg  stock  as  the  Barrs,  and  have 
known  them  all  my  life.  I  knew  the  old  man,  and 
I  knew  Susan,  and  I  never  knew  either  of  them 
to  yield  in  a  thing  that  they  had  once  made  up  their 
minds  to,  and  is  it  likely  now  that  this  boy  will? 
Lord  knows  you've  got  more  than  you  know  what 
to  do  with,  you  and  the  master  between  you,  so 
why  can't  you  give  him  a  share  of  his  grandpa's 
money  without  going  to  law  over  it?  It's  a  bad 
thing  for  them  as  has  old  secrets  they  don't  want 
known,  to  begin  going  to  law  - 

Here  came  a  fierce  murmur,  and  then  the  low, 
steady  stream  of  talk  went  on. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  and 
I  don't  mean  to  forget  my  place,  but  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  speak  out  once  for  all.  and  when  the 
time  comes  I  shall,  too.  You're  old.  and  the  days 
of  your  life  must  soon  be  ended.  Now  wouldn't 
it  be  better  to  try  and  straighten  things  up  a  bit 
before  you  go?  Tell  your  son  the  things  you've 

363 


never  told  him  yet  and  get  him  to  help  you.  Tell 
him  that  ye  were  nothing  better  than  a  brown 
Martinique  girl,  who  the  master  won  one  night  at 
cards  and  took  away  with  him  the  next  day  —  tell 
him  how  your  sort  have  queer  poisons  the  doctors 
know  nothing  of,  and  use  them  —  oh,  yes,  I  know. 
My  old  man  was  on  that  cruise  and  he  told  me 
wild  things  when  his  end  came,  and  the  fear  of 
death  took  him  —  and  the  rest,  Isaac  Neisner  and 
I  guessed  for  ourselves.  What  do  you  suppose  he 
went  off  home  for  so  sudden  if  he  wasn't  afraid  of 
following  his  master  to  the  grave  too  soon  ?  " 

Here  the  hoarse,  inarticulate  sounds  which  had 
made  themselves  heard  throughout  the  woman's 
speech  took  form  in  words. 

"  Go  away,  go  away,  ungrateful,  lying  creature, 
and  never  let  me  see  your  face  again !  I  will  tell 
your  master  to  have  you  turned  out  of  the  house!  " 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't ;  you'd  be  afraid  to,"  came 
the  even  tones  again.  "  I'm  just  going  to  stay  with 
my  little  Miss  Meg,  and  her  poor  mother,  same  as 
I've  always  done.  And  besides  that,  I'm  going  to 
take  care  of  you,  and  see  that  you  don't  die  the  death 
that  the  old  master  did,  with  your  soul  carried  off 
in  the  storm !  Perhaps  there'll  be  a  tree  crash  down 
here,  too!  No,  you  and  I  are  used  to  each  other, 
and  I  don't  mean  you  any  harm  if  you'll  only  be 
fair  to  Susan's  boy  —  " 

"  Ellen,  listen !  "  and  again  the  hoarse,  feeble 
voice  made  itself  dominant,  "  you  say  you  care  for 
Meg,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I  haven't  told  any  of 
them.  I've  left  everything  to  her,  and  if  only  you'll 
hold  your  tongue  —  " 

364 


IN     THE     DAY    OF    TEMPTATION 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  care  for  her,  and  if  you  hadn't  set 
her  against  her  cousin  —  " 

Once  or  twice  Margaret  had  made  an  effort  to 
rise,  with  the  impulse  of  going  to  her  grandmother's 
aid,  the  instinct  of  race  and  of  class  making  this 
relentless  upbraiding  of  the  old  woman  too  repul- 
sive, but  the  spell  of  that  smooth  stream  of  words 
bringing  out  horror  upon  horror  held  her  bound 
helpless.  She  must  hear,  she  must  know  what  other 
shame  rested  upon  her. 

She  felt  as  if  something  that  went  to  the  making 
of  her  own  identity  were  falling  away,  leaving  all 
her  personality  beggared  of  dignity. 

Her  own  instincts,  her  mother's  and  grand- 
mother's teaching  had  given  her  an  intense  pride  of 
birth.  She  had  believed  in  the  legend  of  the  noble 
French  family  fleeing  from  the  Revolution  to  Marti- 
nique, as  she  had  believed  in  the  greatness  of  her 
mother's  titled  Irish  relations,  whose  stately,  dilapi- 
dated castle  she  had  seen. 

"  A  brown  girl  —  that  means  a  slave,"  she  sup- 
posed —  won  at  a  game  of  cards  and  taken  away  in 
a  vessel;  one  who  knew  strange  poisons,  and  had, 
on  some  occasion  that  she  dared  not  think  of,  used 
them  —  could  such  a  creature  be  a  blood-relation  of 
hers,  existing  side  by  side  with  this  luxurious,  upper- 
class  English  life,  which  she  had  sometimes  grum- 
bled at  as  humdrum,  but  which  at  the  moment 
seemed  to  her  such  a  secure  refuge  from  those  out- 
side lawless  elements?  Why,  the  very  servants  who 
waited  upon  them  so  deferentially  would  shrink  in 
horror  from  such  a  person.  And  if  they  were  ever 
to  know,  if  all  her  world  were  to  hear  the  story, 
what  would  become  of  her  ? 

365 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

A  horror  of  learning  more  took  the  place  of  the 
morbid  curiosity  that  had  held  her,  and  she  slipped 
noiselessly  away,  drawing  a  long  breath  of  relief 
as  she  gained  the  outer  air. 


366 


CHAPTER    XL. 

AT   THE   SHOOTING  -  HUT 

A    DAY    of    still    gray    autumn    beauty    was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  as  Margaret,  after 
hastily  ordering  her  horse,  rode  through  the 
yellowing  woods,  by  heaths  rich  with  heather,  and 
brown  harvest  fields,  the  rapid  movement  and  open 
air  soothed  her  jangled  nerves  into  lassitude. 

At  first  she  had  ridden  fast,  but  the  habit  of 
caring  for  her  horse  was  too  strong  for  her  to  forget 
it  even  now,  and  after  taking  a  long  turn  she  was 
going  along  at  a  walk,  her  face  set  homewards. 

It  was  not  a  highroad,  indeed  little  more  than 
a  cart  track  across  a  heath,  and  as  it  turned  to  lead 
down-hill  into  a  lane  between  high  wooded  banks, 
she  saw  Lord  Vernade  standing  by  a  gate  into  a 
field,  his  gun  on  his  shoulder. 

She  remembered  now  that  near  the  gate  stood  a 
little  hut,  used  in  winter  as  a  lunching-place  for  the 
shooters.  She  had  sometimes  come  with  Lady 
Vernade  to  meet  them  there.  Was  it  joy  or  fear, 
the  keen  throb  that  shook  her  as  he  came  forward 
into  the  road  and  laid  a  hand  upon  her  horse's  neck  ? 
Was  there  relief  or  disappointment  in  noting  that 
his  manner,  his  voice,  even  the  look  in  his  blue- 
gray  eyes,  were  marked  by  nothing  more  than  their 
usual  quiet  friendliness? 

867 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  This  is  unexpected  luck,"  he  said.  "  I  was  just 
arguing  the  point  with  myself  whether  it  would  be 
unsportsmanlike  self-indulgence  to  go  to  the  hut 
and  light  the  fire  and  make  a  cup  of  tea.  The  fact 
of  entertaining  a  tired  wayfarer  would  remove  all 
my  scruples,  so  you  won't  have  the  heart  to  refuse 
me." 

The  words  were  a  humble  request,  but  the  manner 
took  it  for  granted,  and  Margaret  allowed  him  to 
lift  her  down  from  her  saddle  in  a  light  but  lingering 
grasp. 

"  It  would  be  nice,"  was  all  she  said,  as  she  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  field.  The  hut  was  small  and 
rough,  but  comfortable,  with  one  or  two  fold-up 
chairs.  A  fire  of  logs  and  brushwood  was  ready 
built  on  the  hearth,  some  plain  tea-things  stood  on 
a  deal  table.  A  match  to  the  wood  sent  a  red  glow 
through  the  room,  and  Meg  sank  into  a  chair  before 
it  with  a  sigh  of  relaxation.  It  was  the  getting 
away  that  she  had  wanted. 

"  Shall  I  cut  the  bread  and  butter  ?  "  she  asked,  as 
she  watched  him  hanging  the  kettle  above  the  flames. 

"  No,  you  are  to  sit  still  and  let  me  minister  to 
you.  Why  do  you  so  doubt  my  capacity?  Don't 
you  know  that  all  sportsmen  are  handy  men  ?  " 

The  work  of  preparing  their  little  picnic  seemed 
to  fully  occupy  his  attention,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  tea  had  been  poured  out  and  the  bread  and  butter 
cut  that  he  seated  himself  opposite  her. 

"  Did  you  ever  observe  what  an  atmosphere  of 
conventional  virtue  surrounds  such  articles  as  a 
brown  earthenware  teapot  and  thick  bread  and 
butter  ?  Now,  if  one  could  only  found  a  sanitarium 
for  imbibing  virtue  by  such  outward  means "  — 

368 


AT   THE    SHOOTING-HUT 

then  abruptly  dropping  the  nonsense  he  had  been 
talking  -  "  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  what  has 
been  troubling  you  ?  "  he  said,  quietly. 

She  had  been  saying  to  herself  as  she  sat  there 
that  she  must  not  tell  him  what  she  had  heard 
to-day,  but  all  instincts  of  prudence  went,  before 
the  influence  of  his  steady  eyes,  and  that  craving  for 
sympathy,  which  is  always  such  a  weak  spot  for 
women.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  the  one  of 
all  others  in  whose  eyes  she  most  dreaded  to  lose 
her  prestige,  that  she  proceeded  to  recklessly  lay 
bare  the  dark  story. 

"  I  am  feeling  rather  bewildered,  like  a  poor  doll 
might  whose  card-house  had  fallen  to  bits  on  its 
head." 

"Has  yours?" 

"  Yes,  I  fear  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  believe 
in  card-houses  again,"  and  the  attempt  of  her  laugh 
ended  somewhat  tremulously. 

"  Build  more  durable  ones,"  he  suggested, 
humouring  the  parable. 

"  Oh,  nothing  will  ever  be  worth  doing  any 
more,"  she  broke  out. 

"  That's  a  large  order,  in  your  twenties.  Tell 
me  about  it.  Here,  make  a  footstool  of  this  log  of 
wood  and  let  me  put  this  coat  behind  you,"  and 
as  he  did  so.  his  hand  touched  the  back  of  her  neck, 
brushing  the  loose  curls  into  place,  and  answered 
almost  as  in  words  by  the  flush  that  rose  on  the 
clear  skin. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  going  back  to  the  seal 
that  seemed  to  have  edged  itself  round  the  corner 
of  the  table. 


369 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

It  was  a  relief  for  the  tumult  of  her  spirit  to  find 
vent  in  words. 

"  I  know  you  think  it's  only  some  girl's  quarrel 
or  nonsense,"  she  began,  "  but  if  you  knew  what 
I  heard  to-day!  How  would  you  feel  if  you  had 
found  out  that  your  grandmother  had  been  a  West 
Indian  slave  girl,  won  at  cards,  and  that  her  own 
servants  supposed  her  to  have  poisoned  her  husband, 
that  husband  who  had  been  something  very  like  a 
pirate?  Why,  it  is  as  though  one  had  done  it  one- 
self!" 

A  restraining  hand  was  laid  upon  hers  clasped 
upon  the  table,  and  even  through  the  power  of  those 
terrible  facts  as  she  first  put  them  into  words,  that 
touch  came  as  a  new  force  into  her  life.  So  did  the 
voice,  that,  masterful  for  all  its  calm,  broke  in  upon 
her  speech. 

"  Hush,  my  poor  child !  Try  to  be  calm !  It's 
been  upsetting  for  you,  no  doubt,  but  you'll  soon 
see  how  little  those  old  sins  have  to  do  with  you. 
It  is  what  a  woman  is,  that  matters,  not  what  her 
grandmother  has  been." 

As  he  thus  waved  aside  all  modern  theories  of 
heredity,  he  withdrew  his  hand,  and,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair,  went  on,  in  a  more  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  And  when  once  you  think  of  it,  most  of  the  British 
aristocracy  is  in  the  same  boat.  Weren't  the  fore- 
fathers of  all  the  oldest  families  Norman  freebooters 
or  Danish  pirates,  and  as  for  the  modern  ones,  what 
great  fortune  has  ever  been  made  with  clean  hands  ? 

"  Then  in  regard  to  the  ladies,  how  many  big 
English  families  have  been  founded  by  royal  fa- 
vourites, and  in  later  days  how  many  actresses  have 
supplied  the  needed  brains  and  beauty?  Don't  you 

370 


AT   THE    SHOOTING-HUT 

think  that  you  might  see  it  in  that  light  ?  "  and  Meg 
knew  without  looking  up,  that  the  half-cynical,  half- 
indulgent  smile  was  bent  upon  her. 

'  Yes,  one  knows  all  that,  but  one's  own  people 
always  seem  different,"  she  murmured,  with  a  new 
shyness. 

"But  why  should  they?"  was  the  cheerful 
retort.  "  It's  only  a  matter  of  habit,  after  all.  Now, 
if  I  had  ever  taken  to  heart  the  sins  of  my  grand- 
father, George  IV.'s  Lord  Vernade,  and  his  excess- 
ively lively  French  wife,  I  should  have  had  a  nice 
subject  of  meditation." 

"  Are  you  half  French  ?     I'm  glad,"  Margaret 
said,  with  sudden  animation. 
'Yes?     Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  because  I  always 
liked  the  idea  that  I  had  some  French  blood  in  me," 
and  the  first  hint  of  a  smile  crossed  her  face,  though 
it  darkened  into  a  new  anxiety. 

"  You  don't  think  I  look  one  least  little  bit  like 
a  black  person  ?  "  she  asked,  with  girlish  solemnity. 

The  man  laughed  out  heartily.  Both  he  and  the 
girl  were  too  thoroughly  European  to  have  any  com- 
prehension of  what  the  taint  of  a  lower  race  would 
have  meant  to  one  reared  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  If  the  skin  were  white  it  never  oc- 
curred to  them  that  the  nature  could  be  shadowed. 

"  You  ridiculous  child !  Do  you  want  me  to  tell 
you  what  I  think  you  look  like  ?  "  and  again  her 
head  drooped  under  the  meaning  of  his  eyes  and 
voice. 

There  was  a  pregnant  silence,  while  the  bru^li- 
wood  fire  crackled  loudly,  and  Vernade's  long  brown 
hand  lay  on  the  table,  as  though  kept  from  moving 

371 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

forward  by  a  strong  will.  When  he  began  to  speak 
again  his  voice  sounded  more  forced: 

"  You  can  comfort  yourself,  too,  in  the  fact  that 
a  woman  is  never  so  deep-rooted  in  her  own  family 
as  is  a  man.  In  a  few  years  you  will  have  another 
name,  probably  that  of  some  great  house,  and  you 
will  have  a  position  of  your  own  in  the  world.  And 
how  you  will  fill  it !  Oh !  "  —  his  voice  deepened  into 
the  hoarse,  intense  tones  that  had  thrilled  through 
her  the  other  day  —  "  if  only  things  had  been  differ- 
ent with  me  — 

His  hand  was  on  hers  now,  but  Margaret  roused 
into  a  last  effort  of  resistance  —  the  effort  that  fights 
against  the  weakness  of  its  own  desires,  and  she 
sprang  up,  saying,  quickly: 

"  Don't,  please  don't !    I  must  go  if  you  do !  " 

But  her  hand  was  still  in  that  firm  grasp,  and, 
though  he  made  no  movement  to  draw  her  nearer, 
he  would  riot  let  her  go. 

"  No,  you  must  listen  to  me  now,  for  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  speak.  Meg,  you  know  well  enough 
what  my  wife  is,  and  you  guess  perhaps  what  she 
has  made  me,  but  before  God,  I  would  be  an  honest 
man  to  a  woman  who  trusted  me.  You  could  trust 
me,  Meg !  " 

She  stood  very  still  beside  him  now,  with  a  look 
on  her  face  as  though  it  were  fate  that  held  her 
in  its  grasp. 

"  I  feel  certain,"  he  went  on,  "  that  she  would  like 
nothing  better  than  to  have  a  chance  to  divorce  me; 
that  she  has  reason  to  believe  that  Martingdale 
would  marry  her,  and  would  probably  have  gone  off 
with  him  before  now,  if  she  had  been  sure  of  my 
divorcing  her.  So,  you  see,  if  you  had  the  courage 

372 


AT   THE    SHOOTING-HUT 

to  come  away  with  me,  it  would  only  be  a  sharp, 
short  ordeal,  and  then,  dearest,  then  —  " 

With  an  impetuous  movement,  Meg  had  shaken 
off  his  grasp. 

"  Oh,  never,  never,"  she  cried,  wildly.  "  Think 
of  my  mother  and  Jack!  They  are  good,  at  any 
rate!  " 

The  man  showed  no  signs  of  a  rebuff,  but  went 
on  with  the  same  self-contained  strenuousness, 
standing  now  beside  her. 

"  Perhaps  so,  if  goodness  is  not  merely  neu- 
trality. But  Jack,  as  you  have  told  me,  is  a  weak 
tool  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Broderick,  and,  through 
her,  of  this  cousin  of  yours.  As  for  your  mother, 
well,  you  know  that  if  she  has  her  doctor,  her 
parson,  and  a  bazaar  to  work  for,  nothing  else 
matters  much.  Are  they  two  worth  weighing  in 
the  balance  against  what  I  give  you?  I  never 
guessed  that  it  was  in  me  to  care  as  I  care  for  you!  " 

There  was  no  answering  flash  of  passion,  as 
Margaret  stood  before  him,  chilled  by  doubts  and 
fears. 

"  Oh,  dear !     How  hard  life  is,"  she  sighed. 

He  was  too  set  upon  conquering  her  by  force  of 
will  to  weaken  into  pity. 

"  No,  it  is  easy  enough  if  you  have  the  courage 
to  grasp  its  chances  firmly.  It  is  only  to  the  waver- 
ing that  it  is  hard.  Meg,"  both  her  hands  were 
now  in  his,  "  for  both  our  sakes,  don't  be  weak  now ! 
Remember  it  is  my  chance  as  well  as  yours!  Face 
it  now  and  settle  the  matter." 

"  I  can't  do  that."  came  low  with  an  accent  of 
decision,  before  which  his  face  grew  grimmer. 

"  Then  promise  me  to  think  it  over  well  before 

373 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

you  decide  against  me.  I  have  to  run  up  North 
to-morrow  on  a  few  days'  business.  Promise  me 
to  have  decided  when  I  come  back,"  he  persisted. 

"  I  will  promise  anything  if  you  will  only  let  me 
go  now.  I  must  go,"  she  sobbed;  then  looking  up 
at  him  with  a  new  fear,  "  but  if  I  find  that  I  can't 
do  it,  you  won't  be  angry  with  me?  I  sha'n't  lose 
you  as  a  friend  ?  " 

He  saw  his  advantage  and  pressed  it  home. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  on  as  your  friend  now.  You 
must  know  that  we've  got  past  that.  We've  been 
talked  about,  too,  and  that  would  make  it  harder 
for  you.  I  should  probably  spend  the  next  six 
months  in  India  or  South  Africa  after  big  game." 

As  the  heavy  tears  rolled  silently  down  her 
cheeks,  a  light  of  exultation  shone  in  his  eyes,  and 
drawing  her  closer  by  the  hands  he  held,  their  lips 
met. 

It  was  a  moment  before  she  freed  herself,  plead- 
ing: 

"  Let  me  go !   Let  me  go !  " 

:<  Yes,  you  shall  go  now,"  he  agreed,  and  hand 
in  hand  they  went  out  into  the  gathering  autumn 
twilight  to  where  her  horse  was  waiting. 

When  he  had  put  her  up  he  kissed  her  bare  hand, 
saying,  softly : 

"Next  week!" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  he  could  hear  that 
she  was  sobbing  as  she  rode  away  into  the  darkness. 


374 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

THE    POWER   OF   THE   NIGHT 

OCTOBER  had  come,  bringing  with  it  tidings 
of  the  first  battle  of  the  war,  tidings  that 
were  to  strike  all  England  with  a  blank 
amazement,  a  sick  mistrust.  At  the  same  time  as 
this  news,  came  Jack's  letters  to  Meg,  full  of  a  new 
serious  purposefulness,  a  wistful  affection  that 
frightened  as  much  as  it  moved  her. 

"  Although  every  man  feels  sure  that  he  is  going 
to  come  through  it,  still,  fighting  ahead  is  a  fact 
that  straightens  out  one's  perspective,"  he  wrote. 
"  Some  things  look  all  at  once  so  big,  and  some 
so  small.  Truth  and  honour,  these  are  the  things 
that,  whatever  else  a  man  loses,  he  must  keep.  I 
have  written  again  to  my  father,  asking  him  to  try 
that  at  whatever  cost  we  treat  Gilbert  Clinch  with 
justice  and  fairness.  If  anything  should  happen 
to  me,  dear  Meg,  I  hope  that  you  will  always 
remember  this  is  my  earnest  wish  - 

Margaret  flung  down  the  letter  in  an  outbreak 
of  bitter  weeping.  All  at  once  the  knowledge  of 
what  Jack  would  think  of  the  way  in  which  she 
had  of  late  been  drifting,  came  over  her  with  a 
new  cowardice.  She  did  her  best  to  shake  it  off 
by  saying  to  herself  that  at  any  rate  she  would 

875 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

be  no  hypocrite  like  that  hateful  woman  in  whom 
nothing  seemed  to  shake  Jack's  belief.  Perhaps 
some  day  —  and  then,  even  in  thought,  she  shrank 
away  from  what  that  "  some  day  "  might  be  bring- 
ing. 

How  it  rained  in  those  late  October  days!  The 
steel-gray  stretch  of  the  river  under  the  low  sky 
seemed  day  by  day  to  widen,  until,  at  last,  it  was 
over  the  banks,  and  the  low-lying  meadows  were 
turned  into  great  sheets  of  water,  the  trim  nev. 
brick  villas  that  skirted  the  town  standing  up  dis- 
consolate like  old  ladies  in  their  best  clothes  in 
a  mud-puddle.  The  waters  were  out  over  the  high- 
road, and  Monk's  Grange's  communication  with 
the  outside  world  was  carried  on  by  means  of  punts. 

In  these  days  the  interest  of  the  gloomy  house 
centred  round  the  sickroom,  where  old  Madame  de 
Barre  was  evidently  making  ready  to  set  out  on 
a  journey  which  floods  would  not  prevent.  Day 
by  day  the  intervals  when  she  roused  into  full  con- 
sciousness became  less  frequent,  the  periods  of  heavy 
torpor  longer. 

"  She's  slipping  away  peacefully,  if  it'll  only  go 
on  to  the  end,"  said  Ellen  Sievert,  with  an  evident 
conviction  that  it  would  not. 

Then  one  grim  day,  when  the  southwest  wind 
drove  the  sheets  of  rain  against  the  windows,  the 
conscious  times  were  replaced  by  a  dull  monotone 
of  rambling,  rising  now  and  then  in  shrill  cries  on 
which  Ellen,  if  possible,  shut  the  door  to  every  one. 
When  the  doctor  appeared  in  a  punt,  he  said,  briefly, 
after  one  glance  at  the  patient :  "  I  think  that  you 
had  better  send  over  to  the  town  for  a  priest." 

"  There  is  a  telegrn.ph-boy  crossing  now.     We 
376 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

can  send  a  man  back  with  him,"  said  Meg,  who 
was  standing  in  one  of  the  windows  that  over- 
looked the  river. 

In  a  few  moments  more  Mr.  Nugent-Barr  was 
reading  out  in  tones  of  incredulous  horror,  such 
a  telegram  as  was  soon  to  bring  woe  to  so  many 
English  homes. 

4  Your  son,  Captain  Eustace  John  Nugent-Barr,\ 
killed  leading  a  charge  against  the  Boers  at  Elands- 
lagte." 

Meg  heard  the  words  as  one  under  a  spell,  and 
while  her  mother  sobbed  and  screamed  in  hysterips, 
she  left  her  to  the  ministrations  of  her  maid,  crouch- 
ing with  strained,  pallid  face,  like  a  frightened  child, 
in  the  corner  of  a  big  sofa. 

Only  when  old  Ellen  came,  the  tears  streaming 
down  her  face,  and  laying  a  tender  hand  upon  her 
head,  said :  "  Miss  Meg,  my  little  Miss  Meggie, 
speak  to  me,"  did  a  quiver  pass  over  her  face  and 
a  few  slow  tears  fall. 

Since  the  day  when  they  had  walked  home  to- 
gether from  the  lodge,  the  friendly  intercourse 
between  the  two  had  been  in  abeyance,  but  now 
Meg  clung  to  her  old  nurse  with  all  the  abandon- 
ment of  her  childish  days. 

"  Oh,  nurse,"  she  sobbed,  "  if  only  he  and  I  could 
be  children  together  again." 

But  Ellen  could  not  be  spared  from  the  dying  to 
mourn  the  dead. 

"  Please,  Mrs.  Sievert,  Sarah  says  she  can't  keep 
the  old  lady  quiet  no  longer  without  you,"  said 
a  frightened-looking  servant,  and  as  Ellen  went. 
Meg  clung  to  her  and  followed  her  with  an  apparent 
dread  of  being  left  alone.  Mrs.  Nugent-Barr  had 

377 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

been  put  to  bed  with  a  soothing  draught,  and  her 
father  was  pacing  the  corridor  outside  of  his 
mother's  room. 

The  cause  of  the  patient's  restlessness  was  soon 
made  known. 

"  The  priest !  Send  for  the  priest  at  once !  " 
clamoured  a  shrill  voice  with  that  strange  new 
strength  which  nurses  learn  to  know  as  a  sign  of 
numbered  hours,  while  a  clawlike  hand  grasped 
Ellen's  arm. 

The  latter  soothed  her  with  professional  serenity. 

"  And  isn't  it  more  than  an  hour  since  Jenkins 
went  over  to  the  town,  and  shouldn't  they  have 
been  back  before  now  but  for  the  current  bein'  so 
cruel  strong!  But,  sure  and  certain,  they  must 
be  here  in  ten  minutes  at  the  very  outsidest,  so 
try  and  lie  easy  and  keep  your  mind  clear  for  the 
time  when  Father  Staunton  comes,  that's  a  dear 
soul,"  and  Ellen  patted  her  as  benevolently  as  if 
she  believed  her  old  mistress  destined  to  a  heavenly 
harp  and  crown. 

Her  spell  worked  for  a  moment,  and  then  with 
a  long  wail  of  the  still  rising  storm  the  old  woman 
started  fearfully. 

"What's  that?  The  wind?"  came  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  that  shook  even  Ellen's  calm. 

"  Lord  save  us,  yes !  What  else  should  it  be  ?  " 
she  stammered. 

"  Where  is  my  son  ?  He  should  stay  by  me  now," 
the  patient  wailed  to  herself. 

"  I  am  here,  mother,"  came  an  answer  from  the 
doorway,  and  out  of  the  shadows  appeared  the 
haggard  face  of  the  unhappy  master  of  the  house. 

The  nurse  drew  back,  searching  with  an  anxious 

378 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

glance  the  corners  of  the  dimly  lit  room  for  the 
girl  for  whose  sorrow  her  heart  was  aching. 

Not  finding  her,  she  passed  on  into  the  dressing- 
room,  where  the  light  burned  brighter,  and  there, 
seated  on  the  floor,  her  hands  clasped  round  her 
raised  knees,  on  which  her  chin  rested,  staring  into 
the  shadows  with  sombre,  unseeing  eyes,  she  found 
her.  She  had  not  even  drawn  near  to  the  comfort 
of  the  fire,  but,  held  in  a  mental  and  physical  ten- 
sion, awaited  the  next  stroke  of  Fate  as  a  child 
might  await  a  blow. 

"My  poor  precious  girlie!  Are  you  here  by 
your  lone,  grieving  ?"  the  old  woman  cried,  hurry- 
ing toward  her  with  an  outstretched  hand,  but 
something  in  the  dark  eyes  turned  upon  her  from 
the  unmoving  face,  staying  her  steps. 

"  Well,  you  have  got  your  wish ! "  came  in  a 
fierce  whisper.  "  Are  you  glad  now  that  the  Mes- 
senger has  come  in  the  storm  ?  " 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  Miss  Meggie,  what  do 
you  mean  ?  "  the  poor  old  soul  stammered,  drawing 
back  in  dismay. 

"I  heard  you  when  you  threatened  her!  You, 
whom  I  used  to  think  were  kind  and  good ! ' 

This  was  too  much,  even  for  Ellen's  sense  of 
pity.  "Well,  then,  and  I'm  sure,  poor  sinners 
though  we  all  are,  as  you've  no  cause  to  say  other- 
wise—  "  she  began,  volubly,  when  a  cry  so  wild 
rang  out  from  the  next  room  that  her  words 
quavered  and  stopped. 

"  The  priest !  The  priest !  "  came  the  wail  as  of 
a  lost  spirit.  "  Will  no  one  stir  to  fetch  him.  and 
save  a  poor  old  woman's  soul?  Something,  some 
one  is  calling  and  I  must  go!  Howard,  you  are  my 

379 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

son,  I  did  it  for  you!  I  knew  that  your  father 
wanted  to  make  a  new  will !  I  gave  him  the  med- 
icine to  stop  it!  Oh,  those  medicines  we  used  to 
make  long  ago  in  the  hot  sunshine  —  hear  the 
palms  rustle  —  Meg,  my  little  Meg,  at  least  I  have 
loved  you  —  Meg,  come  to  me  before  I  go  —  oh, 
they  are  calling  me  —  "  The  broken  words  died 
in  a  long  wail  as  both  women  reached  the  bed,  and 
the  raised  head  dropped  back  among  the  pillows 
with  a  lifeless  thud. 

Outside  a  fearful  gust  beat  and  tore  at  the  win- 
dows, and  the  responsive  crash  of  a  falling  tree 
rang  against  the  house. 

Meg  was  now  flat  upon  the  floor  as  though 
beaten  down  by  the  storm,  her  face  hidden,  her 
hands  over  her  ears,  all  the  hereditary  quailing 
before  the  unseen  powers  of  darkness  of  a  savage 
people  dominant  in  her  soul. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  it  was  before  her 
father's  hand  drew  down  hers  with  a  new  gentle- 
ness of  touch. 

"  My  poor  child,  there  is  nothing  to  be  fright- 
ened of.  She  is  gone,"  he  said,  wearily. 

"Gone  where?"  She  was  now  sitting  looking 
up  at  him,  and,  unimaginative  man  as  he  was,  he 
was  checked  by  some  unfamiliar  element  in  voice 
and  attitude,  as  though  a  restraining  force  of  civi- 
lisation had  been  cast  off  by  a  carefully  trained 
barbarian. 

"  Gone  where?  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  father,  father, 
what  curse  is  it  on  us  that  crushes  us  down?  I 
know  now  that  I  have  felt  it,  guessed  it  always,  but 
never  as  I  do  to-night.  If  you  know  what  it  is, 
I  implore  you  now  to  do  your  best  to  atone  for  it !  " 

380 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

Over  the  man's  wearied  face  came  the  cold  anger 
which  any  opposition  was  wont  to  arouse  in  his 
narrow  nature. 

"  Are  you  off  your  head,"  he  began,  "  as  your 
grandmother  has  been  for  weeks  past?  Surely  you 
never  were  so  foolish  as  to  attach  any  importance 
to  her  ravings  ?  But  there,  God  knows  we  neither  of 
us  are  fit  to  talk  any  more  to-night!  Get  to  bed. 
child." 

Forgetting  his  wrath,  he  sighed  for  the  fateful 
day  past,  but  neither  his  pity  nor  his  anger  turned 
his  daughter  from  the  impulse  that  swayed  her, 
and  her  voice  went  on,  rising  and  thrilling  with  that 
unfamiliar  exotic  echo  in  it. 

"  Father,  by  our  two  dead,  both  perhaps  lying 
unburied  to-night,  will  you  promise  me  to  do  your 
best,  and  find  out  what  is  right  to  do,  as  Jack  asked 
you  to?  If  you  will  only  promise  me  that,  I  will 
not  trouble  you  any  more." 

"  You  had  better  not,  for  I  have  had  too  much 
of  this  nonsense.  One  would  think  that  good  taste 
if  not  good  feeling  would  keep  you  from  it  at  such 
a  time.  I  have  surely  enough  to  bear  to-night," 
was  her  father's  icy  retort,  after  which,  ignoring 
her.  he  turned  to  whisper  with  Ellen. 

In  silence  Margaret  got  on  her  feet  and  went 
away  to  her  own  room. 

In  the  household  confusion  the  lights  were  unlit, 
the  shutters  still  unclosed,  letting  in  a  flood  of  white 
light  from  a  full  moon,  now  shining  triumphant 
through  a  wild  tumult  of  clouds,  now  lost  in  the 
darkness  of  their  impetus. 

She  flung  up  the  window,  letting  a  rush  of  o> 
Jamp  air  beat  on  her  as  she  crouched  on  the  deep 

881 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

window-seat.  The  refreshment  of  the  air  and  the 
darkness  and  silence  were  all  she  thought  of  at 
first,  as  she  listened  to  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  river 
over  the  weir,  wetting  her  hands  with  the  rain- 
drops on  the  ivy  and  pressing  them  against  her 
forehead.  But  one  of  the  last  scattered  showers 
that  end  a  big  storm,  swept  up  in  a  dark,  menacing 
cloud  like  a  great  clutching  hand,  over  the  moon. 
With  its  darkness  and  with  the  rising  gust  that 
accompanied  it,  that  unaccountable  horror  came  over 
her  again,  and  in  a  panic  of  fear  she  closed  the 
window  and  shutters  and  lit  the  light  on  her  table. 

She  had  that  keen  vision  for  trifles  which  is 
said  by  some  to  be  one  of  the  marks  of  a  low  type, 
and  even  in  the  tumult  of  her  spirit  her  eyes  did 
not  fail  to  see  a  note  laid  on  the  stand  for  letters. 

She  knew  that  minute  cramped  writing,  too,  and 
saw  that  there  was  no  postmark. 

"  I  got  back  this  morning,"  the  note  ran,  "  and 
am  here  alone  in  the  house  waiting  —  you  know  for 
what.  The  yacht  is  all  ready  at  Marseilles  for  us. 
It  is  too  late  to  hesitate  now.  Ah,  be  brave,  and 
make  up  your  mind  to  come  to  me!  Who  else  is 
there  who  wants  you  as  I  do?  VERNADE." 

Who  else?  No,  there  was  no  one  now.  Save 
Jack,  there  never  had  been  any  one  good  and  true, 
and  he  was  dead  and  would  never  be  grieved  to 
hear  what  she  had  done.  If  churchgoing  and  pray- 
ers could  veil  such  lives  as  her  grandmother's  and 
her  father's,  should  their  shadow  have  power  to 
spoil  her  happiness? 

She  would  be  happy!     She  would,  she  would! 

88* 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

she  found  herself  gasping  as  she  stared  into  the 
glass  at  her  flushed  cheeks  and  distended  eyes. 

Even  her  own  image  seemed  company  in  the 
solitude  of  the  death-hushed  house. 

But  the  resolution  once  taken  steadied  her  nerves 
and  drove  away  her  fears  of  the  unseen  world. 

There  was  some  one  waiting  for  her,  and  she 
must  get  to  him  without  delay.  There  was  no 
thought,  no  compunction  for  those  she  was  leaving ; 
only  that  hysterical  impulse  to  get  away  at  any 
cost. 

One  of  those  matter-of-fact  instincts  of  her 
strangely  mixed  nature  came  to  remind  her  that 
she  was  now  in  all  probability  a  rich  woman.  She 
knew  that  her  grandmother's  will  had  been  made 
in  her  favour;  she  knew  that  she  was  her  father's 
heir  without  any  power  on  his  part  to  disinherit 
her;  and  a  knowledge  that  however  completely 
she  might  fling  her  destiny  into  Lord  Vernade's 
hands,  she  would  always  be  financially  independent 
of  him,  helped  to  decide  her.  The  impulse  that 
had  made  her  urge  her  father  to  cast  off  the  weight 
of  an  evil  inheritance  was  past,  with  all  that  was 
softer  and  weaker  in  her  nature.  She  was  a  creature 
now  of  fiery  passions,  fierce  to  grasp  at  and  keep 
what  she  wanted. 

In  the  confusion  of  the  past  day.  she  still  wore 
a  walking-dress  of  thick  serge,  and  the  boots  in 
which  she  had  at  midday  made  her  way  to  the 
stables. 

There  only  remained  to  take  down  a  rough  coat 
and  hat,  and  she  was  ready.  She  was  not  of  the 
type  of  the  heroine  of  "  To  Leeward."  who.  eloping. 
took  with  her  a  box  of  hairpins  and  a  bottle  of 

383 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

cologne.  Down  the  quiet  passage  and  stairs,  with 
a  furtive  glance  back  toward  the  death-chamber, 
out  through  a  side  door  into  the  outside  space  of 
the  moonlit  night.  The  terrace  around  the  house 
was  dry,  but  a  little  canal  that  edged  it,  remnant 
of  a  former  moat,  had  spread  out  into  a  shining 
sheet  of  water. 

Here,  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace-steps,  a  punt  was 
moored,  that  had  been  used  through  the  day  by 
messengers.  Margaret  knew  the  outline  of  the 
country  so  well  that  she  understood  exactly  how 
she  could  take  advantage  of  the  shallow  water  that 
would  be  out  over  the  park  meadows,  avoiding  the 
heavy  current  of  the  river  in  flood,  and  coming 
round  behind  the  weir  to  her  destination. 

If  there  had  been  any  one  abroad  in  the  night, 
it  might  have  started  strange  legends,  the  sight 
of  that  slim  girlish  figure,  forcing  her  punt  on 
with  practised  strokes,  through  the  swiftly  chang- 
ing spaces  of  light  and  darkness,  the  hoarse  sound 
of  many  waters  around  her. 

Lord  Vernade  sat  in  his  library,  a  room  with 
big  windows  opening  like  doors  on  to  the  lawn, 
and,  according  to  his  usual  fancy,  these  windows 
were  unshuttered.  He  was  a  restless,  outdoor  being, 
and  liked,  even  on  a  winter  night,  to  step  out  on  to 
the  paved  path  for  a  few  quiet  turns. 

He  had  been  busy  tearing  up  letters,  filing  away 
bills,  making  preparations  for  a  possibly  lengthy 
absence,  but  looking  up  thoughtfully,  a  bright  burst 
of  moonlight  drew  him  to  the  window,  which  he 
flung  open  to  stand  watching  the  still  writhing  trees, 
the  expanse  of  water  above  the  weir. 

Heavens!    what   was   this   coming  toward   him 

384 


THE  POWER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

across  the  submerged  lawn,  this  long  black  craft 
propelled  by  the  woman's  figure,  silhouetted  against 
the  shining  waters  beyond? 

For  a  moment,  childish  recollections  of  a  much- 
feared  legend  of  a  darkly  veiled  lady  who  came 
down  the  river  to  bring  tidings  of  doom  to  his 
race  chilled  his  heart.  The  next,  his  face  aflame 
with  gratified  passion,  he  had  sprung  forward  to 
reach  the  punt. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  be  your  own  brave  self," 
he  said,  triumphantly,  as  he  drew  her  into  the  house. 


:>85 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

RELEASE 

EARLY  in  September,  learning  that  she  could 
have  her  friend's  house  at  Passy  for  the 
winter,  Isabel  closed  Heathholm  and  settled 
herself  in  Paris,  warmly  greeted  by  her  artist  friends. 

"  I  have  come  to  sit  at  your  feet,"  she  said  to 
Edward  Clarke,  the  apostle  of  a  certain  set  of  rising 
men. 

;<  You  need  sit  at  no  man's  feet,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  Undine  studies  which  she  had  just  been 
showing  him ;  "  work  and  concentration,  that  is  all 
you  need  to  make  a  great  picture  out  of  that  mate- 
rial. But,"  with  one  of  his  keen  glances  from  under 
grizzled  eyebrows,  "  it  is  not  your  work,  but  your- 
self that  is  my  wonder.  What  fountain  of  youth 
have  you  discovered  since  last  spring?  You  look 
ten  years  younger.  Of  course,"  with  an  abrupt  lit- 
tle bow,  "  you  were  always  charming,  but  then  you 
were  August,  to-day  you  are  June." 

With  that  rare  evanescent  blush  dyeing  her  face, 
she  put  up  her  hands  in  protest. 

"Take  care!  If  I  were  once  to  betray  the  fact 
that  you  could  pay  such  compliments,  your  influence 
as  a  prophet  would  be  gone." 

"  Influence  is  a  thing  that  must  take  care  of  itself. 

386 


RELEASE 

I  don't  waste  compliments  on  many  people.  But 
work,  work  now !  "  he  admonished,  as  he  left  her. 

"  If  that  poor  crazy  wretch  were  to  die,  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  the  old  cynic,  Edward  Clarke,  were 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
walked  down  the  street. 

The  elixir  of  life  which  Isabel  had  found  had 
been  the  old  simple  draught  of  happiness.  A  happi- 
ness which,  though  she  had  not  seen  Gilbert  since 
that  night  when  they  parted  at  Heathholm,  had 
quenched  the  fever  and  fret  of  her  thirst. 

Gilbert  had  never  wavered  in  his  love,  his  care 
for  her,  and  for  his  sake  it  was  joy  to  be  young 
and  fair  and  strong,  to  be  praised  by  her  peers  for 
work  that  but  few  women  could  do,  and  thus  cheer 
him  with  the  knowledge  that  her  life  was  no  poor 
maimed  thing. 

And  so  she  began  on  her  large  picture  of  Undine, 
to  be  painted  from  her  summer  studies,  for  next 
year's  Salon;  visited  her  friends  and  entertained 
them,  using  her  wealth  to  surround  herself  with 
all  beautiful  and  artistic  things. 

And  every  week  came  Gilbert's  letters,  telling 
of  his  first  legal  steps  toward  proving  the  will,  ant! 
speaking  hopefully  of  the  result;  and  every  week 
she  wrote  him  long  tales  of  the  daily  current  of 
her  life,  and  both  his  and  her  letters  had  occasional 
phrases  and  self-revelations  on  which  two  souls 
lived. 

Never  had  work  seemed  so  easy  to  her  as  now, 
and  Edward  Clarke's  critical  approval  drove  her  on. 

"Stick  to  it.  It  goes,"  he  said,  watching  her 
work.  "  I  have  almost  left  off  predicting  anything 
for  clever-woman  work,  but  still  I'll  venture  so  far 

387 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

as  to  say  that  if  you  choose  you  have  a  future  before 
you." 

"  Of  course  I  choose,"  she  retorted,  her  eyes  still 
on  her  easel.  "  But  why  have  you  washed  your 
hands  of  poor  women-folk?  " 

"Why?"  warming  to  a  favourite  subject,  "be- 
cause I've  known  such  dozens  of  hard-working 
'  female  girls/  as  poor  Morris  calls  them,  and  when 
I've  asked  about  them  a  few  years  later,  one  had 
married  a  parson  and  only  did  children's  portraits; 
another  had  overworked  or  underfed  herself  into 
nervous  prostration ;  a  third  had  gone  to  the  Fiji 
Islands  to  look  after  her  brother's  orphan  children, 
and  each  one  of  them  was  conspicuous  by  absence 
from  the  year's  catalogues." 

Isabel  laughed  idly  at  this  diatribe. 

"  Well,  you  can  except  me  from  all  those  cases," 
she  said.  "  I  could  not,  if  I  wished  to,  marry  again ; 
I  have  a  most  healthy  appetite,  and  no  brothers 
or  sisters  to  leave  me  their  orphans,  so  don't  you 
think  you  can  count  on  me  as  an  artist  ?  " 

"  There's  no  foretelling  the  disturbing  force, 
where  women  are  concerned,"  he  answered,  darkly. 

Isabel  remembered  these  words,  when  that  day 
she  encountered  a  disturbing  force  in  the  person  of 
the  little  Tommy  Curtis  whom  she  had  seen  with 
the  Nugent-Barrs. 

They  met  on  the  stairs  of  one  of  the  English 
banks,  and  the  round,  childish  face  changed  from 
thought  fulness  to  smiles  at  sight  of  her. 

"  Mrs.  Broderick !  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you ! 
You  remind  me  of  the  dear  river!  May  I  talk  to 
you  for  a  bit?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Miss  Curtis.     I  was  just 

388 


RELEASE 

going  to  take  a  solitary  turn  in  the  Bois,  and  should 
be  delighted  to  have  your  company." 

Then,  with  a  blush  and  a  smile,  the  truth  came 
out. 

"  Oh,  you  didn't  hear,  then  ?  You  see  I'm  Mrs. 
Brindle,  not  Miss  Curtis,  now.  Dick  and  I  were 
engaged,  just  without  any  one  knowing,  and  then 
he  had  a  good  offer  to  go  to  South  Africa,  and  I 
felt  as  though  if  I  let  him  go  I  might  never  see 
him  again,  and  —  well,  I  was  of  age  and  I  haven't 
any  father  or  mother.  Just  troublesome  brothers, 
and  uncles  and  aunts.  So,  the  day  before  he  left, 
I  slipped  out  and  we  were  quietly  married,  and  then 
went  back  and  told  my  uncle  and  aunt,  and  wasn't 
there  a  row !  " 

As  the  words  poured  out,  Isabel  stood  looking 
into  the  childish  face  in  mingled  amusement  and 
respect  for  the  woman  who  had  known  what  she 
wanted  and  got  it. 

The  amusement  conquered  in  a  frank  laugh. 

"  Why,  what  a  little  wretch  you  were,"  she  said, 
lightly,  and  then,  seeing  a  wistfulness  in  the  eyes,  she 
added :  "  Though  it  was  rash.  I  don't  think  it  was 
foolish.  Mr.  Brindle  is  an  honest,  kindly  fellow, 
who,  I  am  sure,  will  make  you  happy." 

The  girl  caught  her  breath  quickly. 

"That's  the  first  kind  word  I've  heard  about 
him.  They  called  him  '  fortune-hunter,'  '  adven- 
turer,' and  all  such  pleasant  little  names.  I'll  never 
forgive  them  for  it." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  when  he  has  shown  them 
what  he  "really  is,"  Isabel  said,  kindly,  her  heart 
warm  toward  Gilbert's  friend. 

Presently,  when  they  were  driving  up  through  the 

389 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

brightness  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  into  the  yellow- 
ing avenues  of  the  Bois,  Isabel  heard  how  Tommy, 
having  decided  to  follow  her  husband  to  South 
Africa,  had  run  over  to  Paris  to  say  good-bye  to 
an  old  aunt  of  whom  she  was  fond.  She  was 
going  back  the  next  morning,  to  sail  a  week  later. 

"  I  do  wish  that  I  could  see  Meg  before  I  go," 
she  said,  sadly,  "  but  she  didn't  write  very  nicely 
to  me,  and  her  father  is  furious.  You  see,  my 
brother  being  at  the  War  Office,  would  have  made 
it  a  good  affair  for  Jack,  only  he,  bless  his  honest 
heart,  never  saw  it!  And  he  and  Dick  have  come 
across  each  other  out  there,  and  he's  been  awfully 
good  to  him.  I  wrote  and  told  Meg  about  it,  and 
asked  her  to  come  to  town  and  see  me  before  I 
went,  but  she  just  wrote  back  quite  shortly  that 
her  father  didn't  wish  her  to.  And  —  have  you  seen 
her  at  all  lately?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"  No."  Isabel  coloured  as  she  answered.  "  She 
seems  to  have  some  grievance  against  me  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Clinch.  Some  one  has  evidently  made  mis- 
chief," was  her  sad  answer. 

"  She  must  be  awfully  changed,"  the  little  bride 
agreed,  "but  what  I  mind  the  most  are  the  queer 
things  people  say  about  her  and  Lord  Vernade." 

"  Surely  they  don't  join  her  name  with  his  ?  " 
Isabel  asked,  aghast. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  the  other  acquiesced,  and  the 
two  women,  who  had  each  in  their  way  loved  Mar- 
garet, were  silent. 

With  the  feeling  of  doing  it  for  Gilbert,  Isabel 
bought  a  man's  and  a  woman's  diamond  ring,  and 
took  them  to  the  Gare  du  Nord  at  the  hour  of 
Tommy's  departure. 

390 


RELEASE 

"I  shall  be  writing  to  Mr.  Clinch,"  she  said, 
bravely,  "  and  I  shall  tell  him  of  your  happiness." 

"  I  wish  that  I  might  hear  of  yours,"  the  little 
wife  said,  made  wise  through  love,  and  with  a  warm 
embrace  they  parted. 

Isabel  never  forgot  the  aspect  of  the  Paris  streets 
that  morning,  bright  under  a  blue  October  sky,  as 
she  drove  through  them  on  her  way  back  to  Passy. 

That  drive  was,  in  a  way,  an  end  to  one  chapter 
of  her  life,  for  when  she  reached  home  there  on 
her  writing-table  lay  a  cablegram,  which,  as  she 
opened,  she  instinctively  felt  to  be  her  order  of 
release. 

"  Andrew  Broderick  died  peacefully  last  night. 
No  need  immediate  return,"  then  came  the  signature 
of  her  man  of  business. 

Such  were  the  words  that  she  read  mechanically, 
passing  on  to  sit  down  at  an  open  window  and 
stare  intently  at  the  brown  leaves  drifting  down 
before  a  soft  wind  from  a  great  lime-tree. 

Last  year's  yellow  leaves  had  seen  her  despair, 
the  new  spring  ones  had  seen  her  revived  courage, 
and  now  their  passing  was  the  passing  of  her  long 
endurance  of  loneliness. 

She  made  no  effort  to  force  her  mind  into  pity 
for  the  dead  man.     She  had  pitied  him  living - 
she  rejoiced  for  his  sake  that  he  was  at  rest,  and 
for  her  own  that  the  mockery  of  a  tie  was  broken. 

The  spell  of  inactivity  was  broken  and  there  was 
a  lovely  flush  on  her  face  as  she  reached  for  her 
gloves  and  stood  up.  She  had  remembered  her 
promise  to  Gilbert,  and  meant  to  keep  it. 
was  a  telegraph-office  close  at  hand,  and  she  woult 
walk  there,  trusting  no  one  else  with  the  message. 

391 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  Wire  date  departure.  Meet  at  Heathholm,"  she 
ended,  and  the  clerk  looked  his  admiration  for  the 
American  lady  who  could  thus  lavish  costly  words. 

The  answer  came  that  evening. 

"  Sail  twenty-fifth." 

She  had  thus  a  week  to  wait  before  leaving  Paris, 
and  it  was  an  unsettled  enough  week.  She  could 
not  work  on  the  "  Undine,"  which  she  knew  would 
not  be  finished  for  the  next  Salon,  though  it  might 
be  ready  for  the  New  York  spring  shows. 

She  had  inserted  a  notice  of  Andrew  Broderick's 
death  in  Galignani  and  the  London  papers,  and  then 
closed  her  doors  on  the  visits  of  condolence. 

Edward  Clarke  was,  however,  in  the  habit  of 
walking  in  the  side  door  which  led  to  the  studio, 
and,  one  morning,  when  she  was  busy  sorting  out 
her  portfolios,  he  appeared,  taking  in  with  a  keen 
glance  the  preparations  for  departure. 

"  So  the  disturbing  force  has  come,"  he  said, 
gravely,  as  he  took  her  hand.  Then,  as  she  merely 
bent  her  head,  "  Though  I  trust  it  may  lead  on  into 
quiet  paths  of  work  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Eventually,  I  hope,  but  —  there  is  likely  to  be 
delay  now,"  and  a  deep  blush  told  her  secret. 

She  did  not  notice  the  old,  tired  look  that  came 
over  his  face. 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Well,  happiness 
and  the  *  warm  hearthstone '  are  best.  I  trust  life 
may  not  drive  you  back  again  among  the  toilers, 
but,  if  it  does,  come  to  me  when  you  need  help,"  and 
the  words  remained  with  her. 


393 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

A    FORLORN    HOPE 

IT  was  on  a  morning  as  fine  as  summer  that 
Isabel  left  Paris,  the  meaning  of  her  plain 
black  dress  belied  by  the  hope  in  her  heart. 

As  she  took  her  seat  in  the  train,  Elsa  handed 
her  the  day's  papers.  To  still  that  strange  joy  that 
almost  frightened  her,  she  opened  one  and  glanced 
at  it  idly,  the  stab  of  a  familiar  name  coming  from 
the  first  column. 

"  Captain  Eustace  John  Nugent-Barr  killed  trying 
to  rally  his  men  in  a  charge  against  the  Boers." 

There  were  only  two  kindly-looking  old  ladies 
in  the  carriage  with  her,  and  Isabel  put  her  head 
down  on  her  hands  and  sobbed  for  the  honest, 
kindly  blue-eyed  boy  who  had  loved  her.  for  the 
sister  who  needed  him  so  sorely.  She  was  too  sensi- 
ble to  blame  herself,  knowing  well  how  seriously  he 
had  taken  his  profession,  and  that,  happy  or  un- 
happy, he  would  have  managed  to  be  in  the  thick 
of  it ;  but  her  heart  ached  for  the  futile  waste  that 
takes  the  best,  leaving  the  feeble  and  useless.  Not 
being  an  Englishwoman,  she  could  not  feel  the 
proud  national  throb  which  comes  as  the  first  com- 
fort for  the  loss.  All  that  she  knew  was  "  the  pity 

393 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

of  it!  "  and  the  pity  of  it  brooded  over  her  for  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

At  Charing  Cross  there  was  the  usual  delay  over 
luggage,  and  leaving  Elsa  to  face  the  customs,  Isabel 
went  off  to  send  a  telegram. 

Crossing  near  the  platform  where  the  Continental 
night  mail  was  getting  ready,  she  caught  her  breath 
at  sight  of  a  familiar  figure.  Margaret  Nugent-Barr, 
in  blue  serge  dress  and  a  sailor  hat  with  the  bright 
band  of  her  boating  club,  stood  apparently  waiting 
for  some  one  near  the  open  door  of  a  saloon  carriage. 

Quickly  Isabel's  glance  swept  the  neighbourhood. 
Yes,  it  was  as  she  had  guessed.  Lord  Vernade  was 
giving  directions  to  a  man  who  was  evidently  his 
servant. 

Conscious  of  nothing  save  the  wave  of  womanly 
pity  that  bore  her  forward,  Isabel  hurried  toward 
the  lonely  figure,  that  only  as  she  reached  it  turned 
on  her  a  face  of  startled  aversion. 

Such  a  heavy-eyed  pallid  face  it  was! 

"  Margaret,  dear,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  all  day,  ever  since  I  read  it  in  the 
paper  this  morning.  Oh,  my  heart  aches  for  him, 
so  brave,  so  young,  so  good !  I  am  going  home  now ; 
do  come  with  me,  and  let  me  show  you  how  I  grieve 
for  you." 

Her  hand  was  on  Margaret's  arm,  but  the  latter 
shook  it  off  as  she  answered,  sombrely : 

"  I  am  not  going  home,  thank  you.  I  am  trav- 
elling with  friends,  so  you  need  not  worry  about 
me." 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  when  I  know  how  dear  you 
were  to  Jack  ?  " 

"  We  will  leave  his  name  alone  to-day,  please. 

394 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 

You  ought  to  be  satisfied  in  setting  him  against 
me.  Until  he  knew  you  he  was  fond  of  me,  proud 
of  me,  but  after  that,  even  to  his  very  last  letter, 
it  was  nothing  but  faultfinding.  I  never  told  him 
how  I  had  seen  through  your  coming  to  spy  upon 
us  for  that  man  who  is  trying  to  rob  us,  but  I 
think  he  guessed  and  was  angry.  And  you  think 
that  I  would  let  you  take  me  home  like  a  naughty 
child!" 

The  fierce  words  were  poured  out  in  an  undertone 
that  did  not  attract  the  attention  of  the  passers-by. 
To  Isabel  they  seemed  the  ravings  of  an  over- 
wrought mind  which  she  scarcely  heeded. 

"Oh,  Meg,"  she- pleaded,  "if  you  were  not  so 
unhappy,  I  am  sure  that  you  would  never  think 
these  cruel  things  of  me.  We  used  always  to  be 
such  good  friends.  If  you  do  not  want  to  go  home, 
come  to  my  house,  where  we  shall  be  all  alone,  and 
where  you  can  rest  and  think  about  Jack." 

Something  like  a  moan  broke  from  the  girl's  lips 
before  she  answered  with  the  same  subdued  in- 
tensity : 

"  I  mustn't  rest.  I  mustn't  think !  I  am  going 
abroad  to-night." 

"  Meg,  I  have  known  what  it  was  not  to  dare 
to  rest  or  think.  Listen  for  a  moment.  You  have 
felt  that,  believing  in  nothing,  hoping  for  nothing, 
you  had  a  right  to  do  the  thing  you  chose,  and  to 
let  go  your  hold  on  all  good.  Yes.  I  knew  all  that 
when  I  saw  my  child  lying  dead  under  his  mad 
father's  grasp,  but  I  managed  to  hold  on  to  some- 
thing, I  hardly  knew  at  first  what  it  was,  sense  of 
duty,  or  personal  pride,  or  what,  but  it  kept  me  on 
my  feet  until  I  got  back  my  reasoning  powers.  Ah, 

395 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

Meg.  it  can't  be  worse  with  you  than  it  was  with  me 
then,  and  yet  I  lived  it  down.  It's  not  too  late  to 
go  back.  Only  have  the  courage  to  do  so,  and  you 
will  thank  God  all  your  life.  Meg  —  " 

The  momentary  flash  of  startled  awe  with  which 
the  girl  had  heard  of  so  awful  a  tale  was  past,  and 
Isabel  knew  that  the  fight  was  lost,  and  that  she 
had  laid  bare  her  heart  in  vain,  even  before  she 
heard  the  sullen  words: 

"  You  have  no  right  to  torment  me  like  this ! 
You  don't  know.  There  is  no  going  back  possible. 
I  have  thrown  in  my  lot  with  the  only  person  who 
really  cares  for  me.  Ah,  here  he  comes !  "  with  a 
low  laugh.  "  Are  you  going  to  make  a  scene,  or 
will  you  go  away  now?  When  you  write  to  him, 
tell  him  that  he  shall  not  get  my  money  without 
a  fight  for  it." 

On  the  last  contemptuous  words  she  faltered,  and 
a  ghost  of  the  old  friendly  light  flickered  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  whispered : 

"  I  think  that  perhaps  you  really  meant  to  help 
me,  but  it's  too  late." 

Heart-sick  and  trembling,  Isabel  was  at  that  pass 
when  a  good  woman  forgets  every  personal  thought 
in  a  passion  of  pity.  She  would  have  pleaded  on, 
but  that  she  saw  that  Lord  Vernade  had  become 
aware  of  their  interview,  and  was  coming  forward 
as  though  to  interrupt  it.  Him  she  could  not  face, 
and  so  turned  away  with  a  sharp  sob  of  pain  for  the 
unhappy  girl. 

Gradually  her  mind  went  back  to  her  own  per- 
sonal happiness.  Never  before  had  she  returned 
to  Heathholm  but  with  a  shrinking  from  the  lonely 
home-coming.  How  sweet  and  strange  it  was  now 

396 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 

to  know  that  it  was  the  destined  meeting-place  for 
her  and  Gilbert. 

The  gray  autumn  afternoon  was  already  dark- 
ening when  she  drove  up  to  the  house,  and  she  was 
tired  out  with  the  mental  and  physical  strain  of  the 
day.  But  that  strain  was  not  destined  to  be  ended 
yet,  for  the  servant,  who  had  known  of  her  friend- 
ship with  Margaret,  met  her  with  excited  tales  of 
the  girl's  disappearance  the  night  before.  It  had 
been  at  first  supposed  that  the  shock  of  her  brother's 
and  grandmother's  death  had  so  disturbed  her  mind 
that  she  had  taken  the  punt  and  gone  either  to 
suicide  or  an  accidental  death.  They  had  been  all 
the  morning  dragging  for  her  body,  when  a  lodge- 
keeper  at  Templemere  had  appeared  on  the  scene 
with  positive  assurances  that  Miss  Nugent-Barr  had 
driven  through  the  Park  gates  with  Lord  Vernade 
in  the  direction  of  Henley. 

"  And  they  do  say  at  the  house,  mum,  that  she 
must  have  gone  there  in  the  punt  last  night,  though 
how  any  mortal  woman  managed  it  against  the  cur- 
rent, with  the  water  out  —  " 

"That  will  do,  thanks,  Parsons.  I  must  dress 
now,"  Isabel  said,  wearily,  but  the  weariness  went 
as  she  caught  sight  of  a  pile  of  letters  and  a  tele- 
gram. 

Yes,  the  latter  was  what  she  had  been  hoping  for, 
a  wire  from  Gilbert,  sent  ashore  in  Ireland,  to  say 
that  he  would  be  with  her  to-morrow.  The  sin 
and  the  sorrow  that  had  so  troubled  her  melted 
away  to  a  distance,  and  a  great  peace  soothed  her. 

But  in  the  morning  she  did  not  find  it  so  easy 
to  be  tranquil.  To  begin  with,  it  went  sorely  against 

397 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

the  grain  to  meet  Gilbert  in  a  black  dress,  but  she 
was  shy  of  doing  otherwise  before  the  servants. 

"  If  only  we  had  brought  some  flowers  from 
town,"  she  lamented  to  Elsa,  as  she  stood  before 
the  glass. 

She  went  out  into  the  garden,  basking  in  pale 
autumn  sunshine,  and  her  search  was  rewarded  by 
a  handful  of  late  pale  pink  roses.  Pressing  their 
petals  to  her  hot  cheeks,  she  whispered : 

"  You  used  to  comfort  me  last  autumn,  you  dears, 
now  you  must  be  happy  with  me." 

Then  came  the  question  of  where  she  would 
welcome  Gilbert,  and  that  proved  unexpectedly  hard 
to  settle.  The  studio  was  dismantled,  the  drawing- 
room  was  too  formal,  the  garden  too  public.  For 
a  time  she  even  debated  driving  down  to  meet  him, 
but  that  was  given  up,  and  then  things  settled  them- 
selves unexpectedly,  as  they  have  a  way  of  doing. 
After  lunch,  a  good  two  hours  before  she  could  ex- 
pect him,  she  lay  down  on  the  drawing-room  sofa 
to  rest,  "  just  for  ten  minutes,"  but,  tired  out  with 
yesterday's  journey  and  agitation,  she  dropped  into 
a  deep  sleep,  from  which  she  only  started  to  see 
a  tall  figure  looking  down  at  her,  to  hear  a  deep 
voice : 

"  Isabel !  At  last !  "  and  to  find  herself  gathered, 
all  confused  and  flushed  with  sleep,  into  his  arms. 

After  a  time,  she  said : 

"  Let  me  have  a  look  at  you,"  and  held  him  off 
with  her  hands. 

Bronzed  from  the  sea-voyage,  and  with  hair  a 
bit  longer  than  usual,  he  had  lost  the  air  of  a  dweller 
in  cities. 

"  You  look  like  a  wild  man  of  the  woods." 

398 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 

'  That's  just  because  my  hair  needs  cutting.  The 
ocean  tan  will  soon  wear  off.  But  you,"  he  said, 
tenderly,  "  you  look  tired,  and  there  is  an  air  about 
you  that  is  almost  sad.  Surely,  dearest,  that  has  all 
passed  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sad  now,  but  I  was  yesterday,"  she 
said,  simply,  laying  her  hand  on  his  as  he  sat  beside 
her. 

44  But  how  could  you  be  sad,  even  then  ?  "  he  pro- 
tested. 

"  It  was  not  sadness  for  myself,  but  for  others. 
Oh,  Gilbert,  you  know  that  I  was  fond  of  Meg 
and  Jack  ?  " 

"Yes  — well?" 

And  then  she  told  the  tale  of  the  last  twenty-four 
hours,  breaking  down  into  sobbing  before  she  ended. 

"  What  pains  me  most  is  the  thought  of  that 
one  small  bit  of  softening  at  the  last.  It  seems  as 
though  a  little  more  effort  might  have  saved  her." 

Gilbert  soothed  her  "  as  a  lover  can." 

"  You  did  all  you  could,"  he  said,  decisively. 
"  Nothing  could  have  saved  her.  She  was  doomed 
by  temperament  —  the  true  fate.  But  that  poor, 
true-hearted  fellow,  what  a  life  to  be  flung  away 
like  that!  Do  you  know,  after  he  got  out  there, 
he  wrote  to  me  —  such  a  simple,  manly  letter  - 
saying  that  he  wished  to  persuade  his  father  to 
some  compromise,  and  hoped  we  might  some  day 
become  good  friends.  '  I  feel  sure,'  he  added.  '  that 
when  she  is  a  bit  wiser  and  older,  my  sister  will 
see  things  more  as  I  do/  I  am  so  glad  now  1 
know  that  he  had  that  feeling  toward  me.  Gilbert 
ended,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  all  the  finer."  she  said,  eagerly. 

399 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  because  when  he  went  he  knew,  he  guessed,  that 
it  was  you  —  "  And  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"And  yet  he  could  feel  kindly  toward  me! ''  he 
said,  in  wondering  admiration. 

Gilbert  had  his  own  tale  to  tell  of  legal  delays 
and  difficulties. 

"  Though  I  can  see  no  reason  why  I  may  not 
succeed  in  the  end,"  he  said. 

To  this  Isabel  seemed  irresponsive,  though  she 
roused  quickly  enough,  when  he  said : 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  really  a  brave  woman." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  startled. 

"  I  mean  a  woman  who  is  brave  enough  to  set 
her  own  and  another's  happiness  above  any  dread 
of  public  comment  or  criticism.  Isabel,  for  more 
than  a  year  Andrew  Broderick  has  been  dead  to 
you.  Will  you  marry  me  now  without  any  fur- 
ther delay,  and  come  home  to  begin  our  new  life 
together?" 

For  a  moment  she  sat  silently  watching  the  flick- 
ering firelight  that  now  seemed  to  have  possession  of 
the  room,  while  he  looked  intently  into  her  face,  then 
she  turned  to  him,  laying  her  hand  in  his,  that  closed 
around  it  firmly,  and  said,  gently: 

"  Yes,  Gilbert,  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish." 


400 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

"  HOMEWARD   BOUND  " 

AND  so  it  was  settled  that  as  soon  as  the  read- 
ing of  the  bans  was  over  they  should  be 
married    in   the   little  gray   village  church 
among  the  trees.     Meanwhile,  Gilbert  was  installed 
in  his  old  lodgings.     How  much  there  was  to  tell 
of  and  talk  over !    Gilbert  had  been  offered  a  splen- 
did appointment  in  one  of  the  foremost  medical 
colleges  of  the  day. 

"  How  will  you  like  being  a  professor's  wife?" 
he  asked. 

"  As  long  as  it  lets  me  be  an  artist,  too.  I  could 
never  face  Edward  Clarke  again  unless  I  finished 
my  '  Undine.' ' 

"  You  shall  finish  it  —  after  our  honeymoon,"  he 
promised. 

And  then  he  had  to  hear  of  the  love-affairs  of 
Tommy  and  Brindle.  The  next  morning  he  was 
helping  Isabel  to  elaborate  a  scheme  of  hers  for 
endowing  a  fund  for  the  yearly  purchase  of  six 
pictures  by  American  artists,  to  be  called  the  Andrew 
Broderick  fund,  when  a  servant  came  in  to  say  that 
an  old  woman  wished  especially  to  see  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick, and  seemed  distressed  when  told  that  she 
was  engaged. 

401 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  It  is  some  of  my  old  cottage  friends  needing 
help,  perhaps.  Show  her  in  here,"  Isabel  said. 

But  the  first  sight  of  the  woman,  in  careful  new 
black  clothes,  and  with  tired  face  and  tremulous 
aspect,  told  that  this  was  a  graver  matter  than  some 
small  charity. 

"  Sit  down  and  rest.  You  are  tired,"  Isabel  said, 
kindly,  but  merely  acknowledging  the  words  with 
a  polite  "  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  the  old  woman  fixed 
her  blue  eyes  intently  on  Gilbert. 

"  I  took  the  liberty  of  coming  to  ask  Mrs.  Bro- 
derick  if  she  could  tell  me  where  to  find  Mr.  Gilbert 
Clinch,"  she  began,  "  but,  if  I'm  not  mistook,  this 
is  him.  I'm  sure  it  couldn't  be  no  one  else.  You 
are  Susan  Bauer's  son,  aren't  you,  sir  ?  "  and  there 
was  a  touch  of  appeal  under  the  assumed  primness 
of  her  manner. 

Gilbert's  first  surprise  over,  he  knew  at  once  that 
this  must  be  Ellen  Sievert,  one  of  the  witnesses  to 
the  disputed  will,  whose  evidence  was  to  count  for 
much.  Not  wishing  to  startle  her,  he  answered, 
pleasantly : 

"  Yes,  I  am  Susan  Bauer's  son,  and  you,  I  think, 
are  Ellen  Sievert.  And  why  did  you  want  to  see 
me?" 

The  old  woman  turned  her  troubled  eyes  upon 
Isabel. 

"  If  I  might  speak  to  you  alone,  sir,"  she  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Mrs.  Broderick  knows  all  about  my  family,"  he 
reassured  her.  "  She  was  living  at  the  Moorings 
when  Isaac  Neisner  told  me  about  my  grandfather, 
and  she  and  I  found  the  jewelled  Virgin  in  the 
garret,  the  Virgin  of  Wrath." 

402 


'HOMEWARD  BOUND" 

At  these  last  words  the  modest  self-restraint  of 
the  old  woman's  best  manners  dropped  from  her 
like  a  veil,  dropped  as  did  the  umbrella  and  bag 
from  her  hands. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  sir !  You  found  her  at 
the  Moorings?  Well,  I  never!  Then  there  was 
something  true  in  what  my  old  man  used  to  mutter 
at  night,  when  I  thought  it  was  just  pork-chops  or 
doughnuts.  He  saw  her  often  enough  at  the  last. 
Well,  he's  dead,  and  nearly  every  one  else  seems  to 
be,  excepting  Isaac  and  me.  But  your  mother,  she's 
younger  than  me.  She's  not  dead,  is  she?  " 

"  No,"  was  all  Gilbert  answered.  He  was  leav- 
ing her  to  say  her  say  in  her  own  fashion. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,"  Ellen  Sievert  conceded, 
in  a  more  politely  conversational  tone.  "  We  were 
always  good  friends  when  we  went  to  school  to- 
gether. And  you  have  a  look  of  her  "  -  with  a 
critical  inspection  of  Gilbert  —  "  the  honest,  clean, 
Dutch  look  that  she  had.  Tell  you  what,  young 
man,  you  may  thank  the  Lord  that  there's  no  drop 
in  your  veins  of  the  blood  of  that  old  woman  they 
buried  to-day."  With  these  last  words  her  face  had 
hardened  with  a  tragic  recollection. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"  Because  it's  the  snake's  blood  of  a  brown  Mar- 
tinique girl,  and  if  you've  never  heard  what  that 
means,  you've  never  sailed  about  the  West  Indies 
as  I  have,  when  my  husband  was  master  of  a  fine 
Lunenburg  schooner." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  then,  as  the  other  two 
waited  in  silence,  she  went  on : 

"  Yes,  a  brown  Martinique  girl  she  was,  and  1 
known  it  for  years,  and  yet  I  came  away  with  her 

408 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

and  tended  her  faithfully  when  she  got  old  and 
feeble,  until  that  awful  night  when  the  Powers  of 
Darkness  called  her  in  the  storm.  Lord  sakes,  I 
was  near  to  crossing  myself  like  a  Papist  in  my  fears 
of  what  might  be  around  me!  It  was  just  at  the 
end  when  the  priest  hadn't  come,  and  she  was  shriek- 
ing out  for  him,  that  she  told  us  how  she  had  given 
the  old  master  the  stuff  that  killed  him. 

"  We  always  knew,  Isaac  and  I,  that  she  had  queer 
drugs  and  potions,  and  that  was  what  frightened 
Isaac,  and  sent  him  off  home  after  the  master  died. 
He  was  right,  perhaps,  but  I  was  fond  of  the  chil- 
dren, and  stayed  with  my  little  Meg,  and  I  always 
would  have,  too,  if  the  finding  out  the  old  wickedness 
hadn't  turned  her  brain  and  made  her  wicked,  too." 

At  the  sound  of  Meg's  name,  spoken  with  such 
simple  pathos,  Isabel  caught  her  breath  sharply 
and  Gilbert's  face  grew  sombre,  but  neither  tried  to 
speak,  and  the  shrill  voice  of  old  age  went  on : 

"  She  was  white  and  silent  like  a  ghost,  just 
crouching  in  corners  that  sorrowful  day,  after  the 
news  came  of  my  poor  boy's  death.  And  she  was 
frightened,  too  —  Lord !  She  was  down  on  the 
floor,  hiding  her  poor  pretty  face,  when  the  old 
lady  screeched  out  that  she  had  done  it,  and  a  tree 
crashed  up  against  the  house,  just  like  long  ago  at 
home  when  the  master  died."  Her  voice  had  grown 
reminiscent,  but  she  roused  herself  again  to  the 
present. 

"  And  then,  when  it  was  quiet  again  —  for  the 
wind  went  when  she  went  —  didn't  I  hear  my  poor 
child  a-begging  her  pa,  by  '  our  two  unburied  dead,' 
she  says,  if  there  had  been  sin  to  do  justice  now. 

"  And  when  he  got  angry,  as  he  does  in  that 

404 


''HOMEWARD  BOUND" 

cold,  spiteful  fashion  of  his,  if  any  one  breathes  a 
word  about  his  money,  and  told  her  to  hold  her 
tongue  and  go  off  to  her  bed,  she  just  slipped  away 
by  herself  to  her  room  while  I  was  busy.  And  her 
ma  was  calling  for  me,  and,  like  an  old  idiot  that 
I  was,  I  fell  asleep  in  her  room,  being  clean  worn 
out,  without  ever  going  to  see  that  my  pretty  dear 
was  all  right.  And  in  the  morning,  when  I  thought 
to  find  her  sleeping  peaceful,  she  wasn't  there," 
and  the  two  wrinkled  hands  dropped  heavily  upon 
her  knees  with  a  gesture  of  utter  hopelessness. 

"  The  Lord  knows,"  she  added,  half  to  herself, 
"  that  she  must  have  been  demented  by  trouble  to 
go  to  that  lazy,  smiling  devil !  And  now,"  she  went 
on,  "  her  pa's  cursing  her  because  she's  got  all  her 
grandmother's  money.  But  I  say  as  it's  a  good  thing 
she  has,  or  that  lord  might  be  leaving  her  to  starve 
when  he's  tired  of  her,  as  he  has  others  before 
now  —  " 

At  this,  Isabel  winced  in  intolerable  pain,  a  move- 
ment which  the  old  woman  was  quick  to  remark. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  she  said,  with  compunction,  "  it's 
a  dreadful  thing  to  have  a  tongue  that  goes  as  mine 
does.  I  ought  to  have  minded  that  you  were  a 
friend  to  her,  ma'am,  the  poor  lamb.  But  it  comes 
of  my  feelings  being  so  bottled  up  of  late,  for  I 
knew  well  that  the  poor,  misguided  child  was  meet- 
ing him  about  the  country,  and  yet,  like  the  old 
fool  I  am,  I  did  nothing. 

"  But  I've  given  up  the  family  now,  and  I'm 
going  back  to  end  my  days  in  the  old  place  com- 
fortably on  my  savings.  And  that  was  why  I 
wanted  special,  sir,  to  find  you  out  before  I  went. 
I  had  heard  enough  bits  of  talk  to  know  as  you  were 


BUBBLES   WE   BUY 

trying  to  get  your  rights  to  some  of  your  grandpa's 
money,  even  before  the  letter  came  asking  me  about 
being  witness  to  that  will  as  we  never  heard  no  more 
on,  and  glad  enough  I'd  be  to  help  you,  for  the 
sake  of  the  days  when  your  mother  and  I  were 
girls  together." 

"  Thank  you,"  Gilbert  said,  quietly,  though  Isabel 
could  see  that  his  face  was  set  in  intense  thought. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  remember  about 
the  will  ?  "  he  went  on,  forbearing  to  prompt  her. 

"  'Deed,  and  I  remember  everything  about  it,  for 
many  a  time  I've  gone  over  it  all  in  my  mind,  as  I 
might  have  been  reading  it  in  a  newspaper.  It  was 
the  week  before  the  old  man  died,  and  the  mistress 
had  gone  out  to  church  —  it  was  some  saint's  day, 
I  think  —  and  I  was  ironing  some  of  her  laces  when 
Isaac  calls  me  up-stairs,  and  there  was  the  master, 
propped  up  with  pillows,  a  sort  of  writing-book 
before  him,  and  a  pen  in  his  hand.  Like  the  dead 
he  looked,  saving  that  his  eyes  were  fierce  and  bright. 
'  Watch  me  write  my  name,  and  then  you  two 
write  yours  after,'  says  he,  short  and  sharp,  in  his 
old  way,  and  we  did  it. 

"  '  Now  go,'  says  he,  '  and  don't  ye  speak  of  this 
to  no  one,'  which  we  didn't,  being  used  to  obeying 
of  him.  And  remembering  it  as  though  it  were 
yesterday,  I'm  willing  to  testify  in  a  court  of  jus- 
tice, and  I  hope  it  may  do  you  good,  sir." 

Her  good-will  was  evident,  and  Gilbert  answered, 
gratefully : 

"  Thank  you,  Ellen.    It  may  be  of  great  help." 

"  And  there's  another  thing  as  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  tell  you,"  she  went  on,  "  seeing  that  per- 
haps you  never  heard  as  there  was  a  doubt  whether 

406 


"HOMEWARD  BOUND" 

the  old  master  had  ever  married  her  when  he  brought 
her  home?  " 

'  No,  I  have  not  heard  that,"  he  put  in. 

"  Well,  you  see,  the  sailors  always  had  queer 
tales,  some  of  them  saying  as  he  won  her  at  cards, 
the  others,  as  he  carried  her  off  against  her  will. 

"  However  it  was,  she  hated  him,  and  yet  never 
tried  any  of  her  tricks  with  him.  He  had  a  grim 
way  of  chuckling  at  her,  too,  if  ever  she  showed  a 
spice  of  temper,  as  though  he  knew  that  he  had 
the  whip-hand  of  her.  One  way  or  another  he  gen- 
erally did  have  the  whip-hand.  As  he  got  feebler  he 
seemed  to  feel  the  need  to  be  cautious  with  her,  doing 
things  that  more  than  once  made  me  think  he  was 
afraid  of  poison.  He  mostly  always  managed  that  it 
was  Isaac  or  me  that  took  him  his  food.  She  thought 
the  world  and  all  of  her  son  then,  before  she  got 
tired  of  his  meanness  and  dulness,  and  of  his  poor 
stupid  wife;  then  she  lost  interest  in  all  save  Meg, 
who,  I  think,  she  did  care  for  to  the  last  —  my 
poor  little  Meg  whose  soul  she  brought  to  the  same 
ruin  as  she  did  her  own."  The  old  woman  sighed 
deeply,  and  Isabel  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  her 
wrinkled  one  in  silent  sympathy. 

"  God  bless  your  good  face,"  Ellen  said,  then, 
with  an  effort  at  briskness,  "  Well,  I'm  leaving  the 
Grange  in  the  morning,  but  if  you'll  write  me  a 
line,  telling  me  what  you  want  me  to  do  when  I 
get  home,  it  will  find  me  at  45  Culver  Street,  Isling- 
ton, where  I'm  boarding  for  a  week  to  buy  some 
bits  of  duds,  as  are  nowhere  cheaper  than  in  Lon- 
don. And  if  it's  not  a  liberty,  sir,"  rising  as  she 
spoke,  "  I'd  like  to  shake  hands  and  wish  you  good 
luck  for  the  sake  of  Susan  Bauer  in  old  times." 

407 


BUBBLES   WE    BUY 

"  My  good  friend,  yes,"  Gilbert  said,  "  and  thank 
you  heartily  for  your  kindliness.  I  shall  write  or 
see  you  before  you  sail,  and  "  —  turning  to  Isabel 
—  "I  am  sure  that  this  dear  lady  joins  with  me  in 
saying  that  if  ever  you  want  a  home  or  friends  you 
will  find  them  with  us." 

This  first  open  linking  of  their  names  brought  a 
wonderful  glow  to  Isabel's  face. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  said,  softly. 

"  'Deed  and  is  that  so?  "  crowed  the  old  woman, 
jubilantly.  "  Now  may  the  Lord  bless  you  and 
give  you  joy  in  each  other,"  and  the  blessing 
sounded  very  sweet  in  their  ears. 

When  Ellen  Sievert  had  left  them,  the  two  stood 
together  before  the  fire.  Isabel  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  began,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  heard 
what  she  said  were  Margaret's  words  — '  by  our 
two  unburied  dead  to-night,  do  justice  '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  know  what  her  brother  wrote  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  then  suddenly  turning  and  taking  her 
two  hands  in  his,  while  his  voice  deepened  with 
feeling : 

"  And  you  have  something  to  ask  of  me,  and 
I  cannot  even  have  the  joy  of  granting  your  first 
request,  because  I  have  already  made  up  my  mind 
that  not  one  penny  of  that  money  shall  follow  us 
into  our  new  life.  I  know  that  my  uncle  has  no 
power  to  disinherit  his  daughter.  Let  it  all  go  to 
make  her  dark  way  easier.  A  woman  with  ample 
independent  means  may  be  made  unhappy  enough, 
but  she  cannot  be  utterly  crushed.  My  professor's 


408 


14  HOMEWARD  BOUND" 

pay  is  ample  for  my  personal  needs,  but  if  I  want 
more  I  can  get  it  by  writing." 

Isabel  looked  mournful. 

"  But  you  won't  refuse  to  share  all  that  money  of 
mine?"  she  protested. 

"  I  won't  refuse  to  share  in  anything  of  yours, 
sweetheart,  but  you'll  let  me  have  my  own  little 
hoard  for  my  private  fads.  And  soon  it  will  be 
'  homeward  bound,'  with  the  shadows  all  behind 
us.  Only  we  must  have  a  time  to  ourselves  first. 
Tell  me,  where  shall  it  be  spent,  —  on  the  Nile?  " 

The  Nile  was  agreed  on,  and  it  was  the  follow- 
ing March  before  Gilbert  Clinch  and  his  wife  landed 
in  New  York. 

Soon  after,  about  the  same  time  that  the  Andrew 
Broderick  Artist  Fund  was  made  known  to  the 
public,  there  was  an  anonymous  gift  of  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  made  to  a  home  for  old  sailors,  "  being 
part  of  a  fortune  their  toil  had  helped  to  accumu- 
late." 


409 


JACK  HARDIN'S 


RENDERING     OF     THE 


Being  a  New  Translation  in 
UP-TO-DATE 


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C.A  Photogravure  Frontispiece  of  the  au- 
thor is  used  in  each  volume 

C.The  Title-page  of  each  volume  has  a 
vignetted  Photogravure  appropriate  to 
the  subject 

({.Initials,  Headbands,  and  Tail-pieces 
have  been  especially  designed  for  each 

volume 

C.The  Type  is  from  a  new  font  of  12  Point 

Cadmus  Old  Style 

C.The  Paper  is  of  a  superior  Quality,  hav- 
ing an  agreeable  English  finish 

C. The  Binding  is  of  maroon  silk  cloth, 
stamped  with  a  decorative  design  in  gold 

C,  A  Ribbon  Marker  is  bound  into  each 
volume _ 

C.The  Size  of  the  books  is  4  '4  x  6  '4 


PRICE    PER    VOLUME,    |l.t» 

At  all  bookstore*,  or  ««nt  postpaid  on  wcdpt  of  pcie* 

lit   N«XT   FAOB] 


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Price,  $1.2$  per  volume. 
At  all  book  stores,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 

Robert  iloute  §>tetoenson's 

Essays  and  Travels  in  Seven  Volumes. 

Each  volume  has  a  different  Photogravure  of  Stevenson. 

Each  title-page  contains  a  vignetted  Photogravure  of  some 

scene  associated  with  him,  such  as  his  birthplace,   Edin- 

burgh Home,  Samoan  Home,  Edinburgh  University,  etc. 

(Essays  anti  Criticisms 

C.Containing  papers  describing  walking  tours, 
Swiss  Life,  and  the  study  of  literature.  Collected 
for  the  first  time.  2  Photogravures,  i  volume. 

^Hcmortrs  anH  portraits 

4L  Sixteen  literary  gems  descriptive  of  Steven- 
son's early  life  and  thought.  Illustrated  by  three 
portraits  of  Stevenson  and  nine  pictures  associ- 
ated with  his  Scottish  life.  I  volume. 

familiar  &tu5trs  of  iflcn  ana  -Books 

C.No  greater  proof  of  Stevenson's  versatility  and 
power  could  be  given  than  in  these  nine  studies. 
9  portraits  and  4  Photogravures,  2  volumes. 


ptierisqttc  anil  ©tljtr 

C.A  fit  setting  to  what  are  unquestionably  the 
most  charming  essays  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
i  volume.  2  Photogravures. 


C.A  modern  "  Sentimental  Journey."  Dainty, 
bright  and  picturesque.  Illustrated  by  3  Photo- 
gravures, i  volume. 

GTvaUds  toitf)  a  3Donfup 

C,A  description  of  rare  charm  of  a  tour  among 
the  Cevennes.  Illustrated  by  3  Photogravures. 

PUBLISHED    BY 

HERBERT    B.  TURNER  &  CO. 
170    SUMMER    STREET,  BOSTON 


THE   TURNER  REPRINTS 

Price  $1.2^  per  volume. 
Sent  post  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price. 


&  Eale  of  a 


ONE    VOLUME 

By  JONATHAN  SWIFT 

TWO    PHOTOGRAVURES 

To  this,  "The  Greatest  Piece  of  Satire  ever  Written," 
we  have  added  in  this  edition  many  new  notes,  making  it 
the  most  valuable  as  well  as  the  most  attractive  in  existence. 

Comments  by  Literary  Folk 

Prof.  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY  says,  "The  'Tale  of  a 
Tub  '  is  one  of  the  very  greatest  books  of  the  world, 
one  of  those  in  which  a  great  drift  of  universal  thought 
receives  consummate  literary  form." 

Dr.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  says  of  "A  Tale  of  a  Tub," 
"  There  is  in  it  such  vigor  of  mind,  such  a  swarm 
of  thoughts,  so  much  of  nature,  and  art,  and  life." 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT  says,  "  This  celebrated  pro- 
duction ('A  Tale  of  a  Tub')  is  founded  upon  a  simple 
and  obvious  allegory,  conducted  with  all  the  humour 
of  Rabelais,  and  without  his  extravagances." 

WILLIAM  THACKERAY  calls  him  "The  greatest  wit 
of  all  times." 

VOLTAIRE  says,  "There  are  in  Dean  Swift  many 
bits  of  which  there  are  no  examples  in  the  ancientv 
He  is  Rabelais  perfected." 

PUBLISHED    BY 

HERBERT   B.TURNER&CO. 

170    SUMMER     STREET,    BOSTON 


Commotiore  Crunnton's 
1      Courtship 

By  TOBIAS  SMOLLETT 

One  of  the  most  humorous  stories  in  the  English  language 
Artistically  Bound,      Price  $1.2$ 
WHAT  OTHERS  THINK 

4L"  The  humors  of  Commodore  Trunnion  and  Lieu- 
tenant Jack  Hatchway  are  still  unsurpassed  in  their 

kind Without  Smollett,  Dickens  would  no  more 

be  what  he  is  than  Thackeray  would  be  without 
Fielding."  Edmund  Gosse. 

^J_"  Besides  some  riotously  humorous  scenes  and  inci- 
dents, contains  the  famous  amphibious  trio  of  the  'Gar- 
rison,' Commodore  Trunnion,  Lieutenant  Hatchway, 
and  Pipes."  Austin  Dobson, 

fl  "Among  the  capital  figure*  of  English  fiction  are 
the  Welsh  Surgeons-Mate  Morgan,  Commodore  Trun- 
nion, and  others."  Prof.  George  Saintsbury. 

^[_"  Smollett's  sea  characters  have  been  deservedly  con- 
sidered as  inimitable."  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

C."  There  is  little  doubt  that  Sterne  took  the  idea  of 
Uncle  Toby  and  Corporal  Trim  in  '  Tristram  Shandy ' 
from  Commodore  Trunnion  and  Jack  Hatchway." 

William  Forsytk,  M.  A.,  Q.  C. 

PUBLISHED    BY 

HERBERT   B.  TURNER  &  CO. 

170    SUMMER    STREET,    BOSTON 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN 
STOICISM  AND  SOME 
OF  ITS  DISCIPLES 


BY 

CHAS.  H.  STANLEY  DAVIS,  M.D.,  Ph.D. 

Author  of  "A  History  tf  Egypt"  Edittr  and  Commu- 
tator of  "Tht  Egyptian  Book  of  tht  Dead,"  etc. 

izmo,  cloth  $1.40  net.    Postage  10  cts.  additional. 

This  is  not  only  a  History  of  Stoicism,  but  of  all  Greek  and 
Roman  Philosophies  from  the  earliest  times  to  tht  birth  0f 
Christianity. 

Dr.  Davis  has  sketched  in  detail  the  Greek  religion  and 
philosophy  that  preceded  the  foundation  of  this  ichool,  and 
his  exposition  of  iu  doctrines  it  clear  and  illuminating. 
Equally  lucid  is  his  description  of  iu  later  development  and 
his  sketches  of  the  three  great  disciples  —  Epictetus,  Sen- 

eca and  Marcus  Anrelius. 

Kotton  Trantfrift. 

The  book  is  one  to  be  read  with  care,  and  so  read  can 
hardly  fail  to  be  profitable  to  a  thinking  person. 

CUvtlawl  Plain  DtmUr. 

A  fine  resume  of  the  history  of  the  growth  of  the  noblest 
religious  system  developed  under  the  influence  of  Greek 


CU~c.R~~t.H~44. 

A  succinct  and  interesting  account  of  "Greek  and  Roman 

Stoicism." 

Nrw  Y»rk  S**. 

PUBLISHED    BY 

HERBERT    B.  TURNER  &  CO. 

170    SUMMER    STREET,    BOSTOM 


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A    000127822 


